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FACTS,   THOUGHT,   AND    IMAGINATION 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


FACTS,    THOUGHT,    AND 
IMAGINATION 

A    BOOK    ON   WRITING 


BY 

HENRY   SEIDEL   CANBY,   Ph.D. 

FREDERICK   ERASTUS    PIERCE,    Ph.D. 

WILLARD   HIGLEY   DURHAM,    Ph.D. 


DEPARTMENT   OF   ENGLISH,   SHEFFIELD   SCIENTIFIC 
SCHOOL,   YALE  UNIVERSITY 


Neto  ffarfc 

THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

1917 

jill  rights  reserved 


COPTRIGHT,    1917, 

By  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  July,  1917. 


Nortoooo  $r«a 

J.  8.  Cunning  Co.  —  Berwick  A  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 


The  authors  of  this  volume  have  long  felt  the  need  of  a 
book  on  writing  which  should  view  the  subject  as  it  presents 
itself  to  the  writer,  that  is,  as  the  problem  of  how  to  prepare 
the  raw  material  of  thought,  knowledge,  or  experience  for 
expression  in  words.  They  have  wished  to  put  into  the 
hands  of  their  students  a  book  that  should  take  up  the  study 
of  English  composition  where  formal  rhetorics  of  an  ele- 
mentary character  leave  it,  a  book  upon  handling  facts 
and  developing  thought.  The  three  theoretical  chapters 
of  this  volume  represent  an  attempt  to  supply  this  need. 
They  are  to  be  regarded  as  three  essays  upon  writing,  to 
be  read  by  students  who  have  subjects  ready,  and  need 
advice.  This  departure  from  the  usual  textbook  method 
will  commend  itself  to  teachers  who  wish  to  break  free 
from  the  conventional  ruts  of  composition  work.  These 
essays  not  only  give  instructions  for  writing,  but  also,  di- 
rectly or  by  implication,  suggest  an  abundance  of  subjects ; 
they  will  be  found,  the  authors  hope,  to  be  comprehensive 
in  plan  and  thorough  in  detail.  But  their  chief  aim  is  to 
teach  principles,  not  rules,  to  discuss  the  practical  require- 
ments for  handling  facts  and  thought.  It  is  as  a  second-year 
or  second-term  book  that  this  volume  is  presented,  to  be 
used  by  men  or  women  who  have  been  taught  all  they  can 
absorb  of  Unity,  Coherence,  and  Emphasis,  and  need  most 
of  all  to  write. 

This  experiment  in  a  new  method  is  based  upon  a  success- 
ful course,  now  three  years  old.     The  course  itself  begins 


vi  PREFACE 

with  a  careful  drill  in  the  difference  between  fact  and  no 
fact  or  part  fact.  The  use  of  important  and  interesting 
documents  from  contemporary  writing  makes  the  student 
feel  the  significance  of  this  training  for  his  intellectual  self- 
respect.  At  the  same  time  he  is  given  practice,  both  oral 
and  written,  in  precis  making,  as  a  means  of  guaranteeing 
accuracy  and  thoroughness  in  his  reading,  and  precision  in 
the  planning  of  his  own  work.  Next  comes  the  study  of 
the  means  and  methods  of  thought  development,  freely 
illustrated  as  before  from  good  writing,  and  driven  home 
by  practice  in  composing  articles,  essays,  editorials,  and 
arguments.  Next  and  last  is  the  indirect  method  of  han- 
dling ideas,  too  little  considered  in  textbooks,  the  method  of 
the  story  with  a  moral,  the  play  with  an  idea,  the  satiric 
sketch,  and  all  those  forms  of  writing  where  the  imagination 
serves  as  a  bridge  over  which  thought  may  progress  to  its 
desired  end. 

For  such  a  course  this  book  has  been  planned  ;  and  there- 
fore, throughout  the  three  following  chapters,  subject  matter 
has  been  given  precedence  over  form.  Facts,  thought, 
imagination  in  the  service  of  thought,  have  taken  the  place 
of  the  usual  rhetorical  categories. 

The  selections  included  in  this  book  have  been  tested  by 
classroom  experience.  They  are  not  to  be  regarded  merely 
as  illustrations  of  rhetorical  theory,  but  also  as  material 
for  laboratory  practice  in  the  technique  of  composition.  It 
will  be  noted,  however,  that  in  conformity  with  the  plan  of 
the  volume  they  have  been  selected  for  the  interest  of  their 
subject  matter  as  much  as,  if  not  more  than,  for  technical 
excellence.  The  grouped  reports  of  historical  events  will 
provide  an  exercise  in  the  testing  of  fact  more  instructive 
than  a  hundred  pages  of  comment.  The  essays,  the  stories, 
and  the  plays  have  been  chosen  because  the  ideas  they  present 
are  fresh,  definite,  often  debatable,  and  always  interesting 


PREFACE  Vll 

to  the  college  undergraduate.  A  nucleus  of  excellent  ma- 
terial for  precis  writing,  for  the  analysis  of  fact,  and  the 
pursuit  of  thought,  is  thus  made  part  of  this  book.  The 
value  of  such  an  accessible  body  of  tested  material  is  known 
to  every  teacher;  but  the  book  is  not  limited  by  its  con- 
tents. It  is  designed  to  be  used  in  closest  connection  with 
good  reading  of  every  kind,  whether  drawn  from  other 
courses  the  student  may  be  pursuing,  or  from  such  peri- 
odicals as  "The  Atlantic  Monthly,"  "The  New  Republic," 
or  "The  Yale  Review."  With  such  additions  of  material 
from  without,  the  theory  presented  can  be  made  the  basis 
of  a  full  and  satisfying  year's  work.  Indeed,  the  scope  of 
this  volume  is  as  wide  as  the  intellectual  needs  of  the  under- 
graduate writer. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface         v 

Acknowledgments xi 

PART  I 

THEORY 
Chapter      I.     Facts    .         .         .     Frederick  Erastus  Pierce         i 
Chapter    II.     Thought       .         .     Henry  Seidel  Canby      .       24 
Chapter  III.     Imagination    in 

the  Service  of  Thought     .     Willard  Higley  Durham      45 

PART  II 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

Group  One 

(To  accompany  Chapter  I) 

Habit    Formation    and    Refor- 
mation    .....     Eliott  Park  Frost  .         .       65 

The    Odyssey    of    the    Sockeye 

Salmon    .....     William  Charles  Scully       84 

The     Coronation     of     Charles 

the  Great      ....     From  various  sources     .     100 

Accounts  of  the  Naval  Battle 

of  Jutland     ....     From  various  sources     .     111 

ix 


x  CONTENTS 

Group  Two 

(To  accompany  Chapter  II) 

A   Defence    of    Penny    Dread-  page 

fuls G.  K.  Chesterton    .  155 

The    Case    of    the     Forgotten 

Man William  Graham  Sumner     161 

Life,  Art,  and  America       .        .  Theodore  Dreiser  .  .173 

The  Moral  Equivalent  of  War  William  James      .  .     195 

The  Prolongation  of  Peace       .  Simeon  Strunsky  .  .210 

Group  Three 
(To  accompany  Chapter  III) 
The   Speech  of  Ellis  (from  "A 

Modern  Symposium")      .         .     G.  Lowes  Dickinson        .     225 
The  Passing  of  the  Third  Floor 

Back Jerome  K.  Jerome         .     236 

The  Story  of  the   Last  Trump    H.  G.  Wells  .        .        .     261 
Two  Plays Alfred  Sutro 

The  Man  on  the  Kerb 279 

The  Bracelet 292 

APPENDIX 
Directions  for  Making  a  Precis 317 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

Acknowledgment  is  here  made  of  the  kindness  shown 
by  the  following  publishers  in  allowing  material  to  be  re- 
printed from  works  copyrighted  by  them:  "The  Atlantic 
Monthly  "  ;  Dodd,  Mead,  &  Co. ;  The  George  H.  Doran 
Co. ;  Doubleday,  Page  &  Co. ;  Harper  &  Brothers  ;  "  The 
New  York  Times";  "The  Seven  Arts";  "The  Yale 
Review";  The  Yale  University  Press.  Detailed  acknowl- 
edgments will  be  found  in  connection  with  the  separate 
articles. 


XI 


PART  I 

CHAPTER   I 
FACTS 


Ancient  writers  usually  bracketed  war  and  pestilence 
together  as  the  two  great  evils  of  mankind.  War  remains 
with  us ;  but  the  most  terrible  forms  of  pestilence  during 
the  last  eighty  years  have  been  almost  driven  from  the 
earth  by  the  advances  of  medical  science.  Yellow  fever 
no  longer  ravages  Havana ;  the  Black  Plague  is  being 
hunted  even  from  its  lair  in  dirty,  primitive  Asia.  Through- 
out once  deadly  Panama  —  over  the  bones  of  uncounted 
Chinese  coolies  whom  the  mosquitoes  and  climate  killed  — 
delicate  women  now  make  their  homes  and  grow  strong. 
In  the  Crimean  war  seven-eighths  of  the  deaths  were  due 
to  sickness,  about  twelve  per  cent,  to  wounds  received  in 
battle.  During  the  far  greater  conflict  that  began  in 
August,  1914,  these  proportions  have  been  nearly  re- 
versed. The  comparison  of  such  figures  from  different 
periods  shows  a  mighty  revolution  in  the  living  conditions 
of  the  race ;  and  that  far-reaching  revolution  was  made 
possible  by  the  patient  accumulation  and  the  wise  interpre- 
tation of  facts.  Millions  of  apparently  petty  details  had 
to  be  observed  and  recorded  by  thousands  of  men  before 
the  causes  and  cures  of  bubonic  plague,  smallpox,  typhus, 
and  yellow  fever  were  discovered.  Could  all  the  note-books, 
memoranda  of  experiments,   and  painfully  gathered  tables 

B  I 


2  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

of  statistics,  that  through  decades  prepared  the  way  for 
these  great  discoveries,  be  piled  together,  they  would  form 
a  pyramid  perhaps  not  incomparable  to  Cheops  in  size, 
and  certainly  far  more  useful  to  mankind. 

The  history  of  this  hygienic  revolution  well  illustrates 
how  completely  our  modern  system  of  thought  is  based 
upon  a  wide  and  accurate  knowledge  of  facts.  This  is 
hardly  more  true  of  hygiene  than  of  other  sciences.  War 
is  no  longer  decided  either  by  the  physical  might  of  Achilles 
or  by  the  sudden  inspirations  of  Joan  of  Arc.  Before  the 
first  cannon  booms,  millions  of  facts,  military,  geographical, 
historical,  and  economic,  have  been  accumulated  in  the 
war  offices  of  the  prospective  belligerents ;  and  these  facts 
would  enable  their  possessors  to  outgeneral  an  unprepared 
Napoleon.  "Now  I  can  take  a  holiday,"  said  Von  Moltke, 
the  German  chief  of  staff,  when  he  learned  that  his  country 
in  1870  had  declared  war  on  France.  Soon  after,  being 
informed  of  some  unexpected  development  in  French  strat- 
egy, he  pointed  to  his  card  catalogue,  the  accumulated 
data  of  half  a  lifetime,  and  answered,  "It  is  all  in  drawer 
number  so-and-so."  In  the  same  way  a  painstaking 
knowledge  of  detail  often  lies  at  the  bottom  of  industrial 
success.  According  to  the  newspapers,  when  the  battle- 
ship Oregon  was  on  her  trial  trip,  a  reporter  said  to  the  head 
of  the  firm  that  built  her:  "Are  you  not  worried?  The 
breaking  of  a  ten-cent  bolt  may  cost  you  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  in  premiums  for  extra  speed."  "No  bolt  will  break," 
he  is  reported  to  have  answered,  "I  know  them  all  per- 
sonally." 

"But,"  exclaim  readers  who  are  more  literary  than 
scientific,  "is  not  this  glorification  of  facts  rank  sordid- 
ness  and  commercialism  ?  Does  it  not  substitute  the 
card  catalogue  and  microscope  for  the  altar  and  art  gal- 
lery?"    By     no    means.     The    greatest    poets,     painters, 


FACTS  3 

and  architects  have  been  supreme  partly  through  their 
mastery  of  facts.  The  details  which  they  observed  were 
aesthetic,  not  utilitarian,  but  none  the  less  facts.  The  poet 
who  first  saw  the  beauty  of 

"The  yellow  wall-flower  stained  with  iron-brown," 

or  of  the  sunset  sky, 

"With  its  peculiar  tint  of  yellow  green," 

just  as  definitely  added  a  new  fact  to  our  mental  store- 
house as  the  scientist  who  first  observed  the  hookworm. 
It  was  partly  by  their  greater  wealth  of  observed  facts  — 
glorified  by  the  imagination,  if  you  will,  but  none  the  less 
facts  —  that  Wordsworth,  Burns,  and  Keats  excelled  in 
their  nature  poetry  the  vague,  generalizing  rhymers  of 
Queen  Anne.  When  Tennyson  describes  a  young  lady's 
nose  as 

"Tip-tilted  like  the  petal  of  a  flower," 

he  shows  himself  a  keen  observer  of  details  in  regard  to 
both  flowers  and  faces.  Wherein  lies  the  success  of  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  as  a  portrait  painter  if  not  in  his  minute 
scrutiny  of  a  thousand  details  concerning  the  rounding  of 
a  cheek  or  the  precise  curve  in  a  lock  of  hair  ?  Whether 
men  are  following  business  for  money  and  position  or  are 
artists  and  visionaries  in  quest  of  beauty,  they  need  ability 
to  see  and  use  the  uncounted  facts  in  their  particular  field 
of  existence.  "The  great  heart,  the  clear  deep-seeing  eye" 
says  Carlyle,  "there  it  lies;  no  man  whatever,  in  what 
province  soever,  can  prosper  at  all  without  these." 

In  one  sense  of  the  word,  everything  which  truly  exists 
is  a  fact.  According  to  one  definition,  the  relation  of  God 
to  his  universe  could  be  considered  a  fact,  incomprehensible 
to  mortal  mind,  but  actually  there.     Such  an  all-embrac- 


4  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

ing  conception,  however,  would  defeat  the  purpose  of  this 
volume.  The  word  "fact,"  as  used  in  the  following  pages, 
stands  in  the  first  place  for  separate  details  ascertained 
by  the  five  senses  :  the  odor  of  a  shrub,  the  contour  of  a 
mountain,  the  peculiar  tint  of  overheated  metal,  the  fatal 
dagger  thrust  that  some  one  saw.  It  would  include  also 
similar  facts  of  experience  drawn  from  a  wide  field  and 
tabulated  as  statistics.  It  stands  in  the  second  place  for 
isolated  details  that  must  be  determined  by  reason  because 
nobody  was  present  to  see  or  hear  them.  The  height  of 
a  prehistoric  animal  whose  thigh  bones  only  are  found,  the 
exact  nature  of  a  crime  that  nobody  witnessed,  these  would 
be  facts  as  far  as  they  could  be  determined.  Under  the 
word  are  also  included  truths  demonstrated  by  experiment, 
such  as  the  fact  that  oxygen  and  hydrogen  mixed  in  due 
proportions  form  water.  For  the  sake  of  clearness  the  pres- 
ent book  draws  a  fairly  sharp  distinction  —  sharper  than 
that  found  in  actual  life  —  between  this  realm  of  facts  and 
the  realm  of  ideas.  To  the  latter  belong  studies  of  far- 
reaching  general  principles,  brilliant  suggestions  that  come 
spontaneously  and  can  be  tested  by  facts  later,  problems 
of  the  relationship  between  man  and  man  or  between  man 
and  his  environment. 

Facts,  as  we  have  said,  may  be  employed  for  either  utili- 
tarian and  scientific  or  for  aesthetic  and  literary  ends.  The 
latter  use  will  be  considered  in  a  later  chapter;  the  former 
concerns  us  at  present. 

II 

This  is  a  book  on  writing,  and  discusses  facts  only  as  a 
means  to  that  end.  Whatever  his  material,  it  is  every 
writer's  duty  toward  his  reader  to  see  that  his  data  are  in 
some  respects  new  and  in  all  important  respects  true.  If 
he  fails  in  the  first  requirement  he  is  usually  a  bore ;    if  in 


FACTS  5 

the  second,  he  is  —  intentionally  or  unintentionally  —  a 
liar.  Hence  the  problem  for  the  would-be  author  is  always 
a  double  one :  to  amass  a  wealth  of  material,  and  to  handle 
it  discerningly  and  honestly. 

It  is  when  he  is  writing  on  facts  gathered  by  firsthand 
personal  observation  that  this  problem  confronts  him  in 
its  simplest  phase.  The  traveler  preparing  a  lecture  on 
scenery  and  manners  in  countries  he  has  visited ;  the  spy 
transmitting  his  report  of  fortresses  examined ;  the  geologist 
giving  an  account  of  regions  surveyed  by  him ;  the  inspector 
reporting  on  factories  under  his  charge ;  the  polar  explorer 
writing  a  book  on  his  hardships  and  discoveries  —  all  of 
these  men  face  certain  similar  problems.  These  same 
considerations  confront  also  the  undergraduate  who  writes 
of  some  locality,  building,  or  exciting  situation. 

Before  all  things  else,  before  the  planning  of  paragraphs 
or  the  polishing  of  phrases,  must  come  the  power  to  see  much 
and  clearly.  Details  which  an  ordinary  man  would  over- 
look may  be  precisely  the  factors  that  give  beauty  to  a  de- 
scription or  significance  to  a  spy's  report.  But,  beyond 
this  consideration,  the  author  must  realize  the  significance 
of  facts  and  distinguish  the  essential  from  the  unessential. 
Every  man  daily  sees  a  thousand  things  not  worth  remem- 
bering ;  he  may  notice  a  few,  the  recording  and  interpre- 
tation of  which  are  a  service  to  the  community.  The  haggard 
face  that  shows  disease  and  unsanitary  conditions  in  the 
workshop  is  something  more  than  a  mere  face,  it  is  a  revela- 
tion. When  the  first  explorer  among  the  Niam-niam  sav- 
ages saw  quarters  of  human  bodies  hanging  like  pork  in 
the  market  place,  he  beheld  a  sight  the  significance  of  which 
was  not  to  be  forgotten.  In  a  hundred  similar  ways  the 
trained  eye  can  derive  from  its  surroundings  a  truth  worth 
uttering. 

When  a  man  has  observed  life  until  he  has  a  mass  of  new 


6  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

and  valuable  data  to  present,  then,  and  not  till  then,  should 
he  attempt  to  reduce  it  to  written  form.  The  problems 
of  actual  composition  are  many;  and  any  elementary  text- 
book will  give  rules  for  expressing  the  gathered  material 
in  clear,  orderly,  and  condensed  form.  What  concerns 
us  here  is  not  a  repetition  of  these  well-known  formulas, 
but  the  way  in  which  observation  enables  men  to  apply 
them  with  new  force  and  vitality  ;  for  that,  and  not  mechani- 
cal structure,  is  the  aim  of  the  present  chapter.  Not  only 
does  observation  give  the  writer  something  to  express, 
it  aids  him  in  the  actual  expression.  A  factory  inspector 
presents  a  well-written  report  only  when  he  knows  what 
points  to  emphasize  and  what  points  to  slur.  Choice  of 
words  is  one  of  the  marks  of  a  good  style ;  yet  how  can  the 
traveler  choose  the  precise  words  in  describing  the  color 
and  shape  of  a  foreign  tree  unless  he  has  trained  his  vision 
to  notice  hues  and  forms  ?  Only  when  the  hitherto  care- 
less author  has  learned  to  visualize  in  his  imagination  the 
thing  that  he  is  talking  about,  to  realize  its  significance 
and  far-reaching  effects  —  only  then  does  he  realize  how  in- 
adequately he  has  passed  the  fact  from  his  brain  to  his 
reader's  by  the  first  ill-chosen  word  that  suggested  itself. 
How  can  an  author  develop  a  paragraph  by  the  method  of 
examples  or  detail  unless  he  has  at  hand  the  facts  which  are 
his  examples  ?  One  of  the  chief  virtues  of  Macaulay  as 
an  orator  was  his  ability  to  buttress  up  any  point  by  numer- 
ous illustrations  from  past  history.  It  was  the  power  of 
his  mind  in  amassing  facts  that  made  him  able  to  round  out 
a  convincing  paragraph.  In  the  arrangement  and  style 
of  an  essay,  as  in  all  things  else,  knowledge  is  power,  and 
accumulated  facts  are  knowledge. 

One  need  not  be  a  great  author  or  traveler  in  order  to 
find  the  above  principles  useful.  Let  any  man  walk  with 
discerning  eye  through   the  slums,   the  museums,   the  art 


FACTS  7 

galleries,  or  the  wharves  of  a  great  city,  and  then  write  his 
experiences.  Proper  variations  of  emphasis  on  his  different 
points  will  come  naturally  from  the  varying  intensity  of  his 
emotions;  his  paragraphs  will  round  out  spontaneously 
from  the  wealth  of  gathered  material ;  amusement,  indigna- 
tion, and  enthusiasm  in  alternation  will  give  him  words 
that  sting  and  glow  instead  of  the  hackneyed  vocabulary 
of  textbooks;  and  if  in  the  end  he  does  not  write  well  it 
will  be  largely  because  he  has  not  yet  learned  to  see  well. 

Ill 

Next  to  facts  gained  by  simple  observation  come  those 
acquired  by  experiment.  Of  these,  the  most  simple  and 
conclusive  are  those  derived  from  the  laboratories  of  the 
physical  sciences,  where  various  ingredients  can  be  tested 
first  together,  then  separately,  and  the  varying  results  noted. 
Such  experiments  have  led  to  most  of  the  great  discoveries 
in  chemistry,  physics,  medicine,  and  machinery.  The 
results,  like  those  of  observation,  are  usually  definite  and 
unquestionable,  and  can  be  used  in  the  same  way  to  buttress 
a  point  or  furnish  an  illustration.  Moreover,  an  account 
of  the  experiment  itself  may  become  valuable  reading  matter 
for  the  public,  partly  because  it  suggests  new  lines  of  similar 
experiments,  still  more  because  of  the  appeal  that  it  makes  to 
the  restless  ingenuity  and  eager  curiosity  of  the  human  mind. 

A  greater  interest  for  the  average  man,  however,  is  found 
in  another  field,  where  the  elements  to  be  examined  are 
neither  simple  nor  separable,  but  complex  in  themselves, 
and  still  more  complex  through  the  inextricable  way  in 
which  they  are  twisted  together.  They  must  be  examined, 
not  in  some  simple  combination  arranged  wholly  by  the 
investigator,  but  in  an  exceedingly  complicated  one  made 
by  nature  and  only  slightly  modified  by  the  experimenter. 
Such  are  the  problems  of  the  social  sciences,  dealing  with 


8  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

human  passions,  causes  and  consequences  of  war,  of  immo- 
rality, of  race  suicide,  of  economic  success  and  failure.  The 
simple  pairing  off  of  related  phenomena  and  elimination 
of  every  other  disturbing  element,  which  is  the  chief  feature 
of  the  laboratory  experiment,  become  impossible.  What 
man  ever  separated  the  intemperance  of  a  drunkard  from 
his  other  characteristics,  and  examined  its  reactions  when 
combined  or  not  combined  with  ten  measures  of  will  power  ? 
Chemistry  makes  a  few  perfect  experiments  under  ideal  con- 
ditions and  arrives  at  certainty;  the  social  sciences,  finding 
this  rarely  possible,  fall  back  on  a  great  number  of  im- 
perfect experiments  which  gradually  approximate  toward 
certainty  with  the  increase  in  the  number  of  attempts. 
The  mental  training  developed  by  experiment  in  physical 
sciences  is  helpful  to  the  social  scientist.  The  methods  of 
reasoning  in  the  two  fields  are  often  similar,  but  must  in 
the  study  of  economics  and  government  be  supplemented 
by  such  a   knowledge  of  life  as  no  textbook  can  give. 

Yet  more  vague  in  their  details,  but  still  depending  at 
bottom  on  the  old  principles  of  elimination  and  compari- 
son, are  the  experiments,  not  of  any  science,  but  of  what  is 
usually  spoken  of  as  human  experience.  All  life  is,  in  one 
sense  of  the  word,  an  unending  experiment  in  an  eternal 
laboratory.  Every  test  of  a  neighbor's  temper  is  an  experi- 
ment, every  new  device  for  entertaining  a  guest.  All  these 
become  part  of  the  tissue  of  life,  part  of  what  the  writer 
must  handle  in  either  scientific  or  literary  work. 

Detailed  directions  for  making  experiments  in  either  the 
physical  or  social  sciences  can  be  found  in  other  books.  Our 
present  concern  is  with  the  use  of  such  procedure  for  pur- 
poses of  writing.  In  the  first  place,  any  fact  gained  by  a 
trustworthy  form  of  experiment  —  like  the  facts  gained  by 
observation  —  can  be  employed  for  purposes  of  proof  or  illus- 
tration, without  reference  to  the  methods  by  which  it  was 


FACTS  9 

proved  to  be  a  fact.  The  truth  about  human  evolution  is 
daily  used  to  illustrate  thoughts  on  widely  differing  subjects, 
and  used  by  men  who  do  not  even  know  the  experimental 
processes  that  Darwin  followed.  In  addition,  an  account 
of  the  actual  experimental  procedure  is  often  valuable  for 
writing.  It  may  strengthen  an  argument  for  or  against 
the  encouragement  of  certain  experiments  by  showing 
how  the  very  attempt  now  mooted  wholly  failed  or  partly 
succeeded  before.  It  may  further  become  a  means  of  ex- 
pressing exact  truth  by  showing  precisely  how  far  a  certain 
experiment  was,  how  far  it  was  not,  convincing,  and  just 
what  reservations  we  should  make  in  accepting  the  results. 
The  history  of  social  reform  is  a  never-ending  study  of  par- 
tial success  in  man's  ever  varying  attempts.  Even  for  the 
most  purely  imaginative  literature  descriptions  of  scientific 
methods  have  a  distinct  value.  Novels,  tales,  and  dramas 
teem  with  imaginary  experiments,  not  always  possible 
in  actual  life,  perhaps,  but  suggested  by  the  methods  of 
genuine  science.  Mr.  Thomas's  "Witching  Hour"  and 
Edgar  Poe's  "Strange  Case  of  Monsieur  Valdemar"  both 
turn  on  experiments  in  mesmerism.  A  narrative  of  country 
life  might  gain  excellent  local  color  from  the  scientific  testing 
both  of  provincial  tempers  and  of  farming  machinery.  Any 
man  who  desires  to  become  a  stimulating  and  forcible  writer 
may  well  train  himself  to  examine  all  phenomena  of  life 
with  which  he  comes  in  touch,  now  separately,  now  together, 
now  under  one  set  of  circumstances,  now  another,  until  he 
has  thus  gained  insight  into  their  true  nature  and  causes 
and  so  laid  up  plentiful  material  for  future  writing  which 
men  will  be  eager  to  read. 

IV 

So  much  for  facts  obtained  at  first  hand  by  the  writer's 
own  observation  or  experiment.     It  is  somewhat  humiliat- 


IO  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

ing  to  realize  how  small  a  part  of  any  man's  knowledge 
falls  into  either  of  these  categories.  At  every  turn  one 
must  depend  instead  upon  facts  gained  at  second  hand, 
facts  of  which  one  knows  nothing  except  what  other  men 
have  told  him.  How  do  we  know  that  there  is  a  frigid 
zone  ?  Most  of  us,  certainly,  have  never  been  there.  Why 
are  we  certain  that  the  human  race  existed  two  hundred 
years  ago  ?  We  were  not  alive  then  to  see.  Why  shudder 
at  the  reported  horrors  of  the  Inquisition  ?  We  have  no 
first-hand  proof  even  that  the  water  torture  is  disagreeable, 
much  less  that  anybody  was  ever  so  tortured.  Few  of  us 
have  had  any  ocular  proof  that  Europe  during  and  after 
1914  was  not  in  a  state  of  the  most  exemplary  tranquillity. 
Why  are  our  readers  convinced  that  a  plural  subject  requires 
a  plural  verb  ?  They  have  not  examined  one  one-millionth 
of  the  printed  books  in  the  language ;  they  have  not  heard 
that  language  from  one  one-thousandth  of  the  English- 
speaking  world  ;  —  and  half  of  that  less  than  one  one-thou- 
sandth appear  to  follow  another  usage.  Nearly  all  our 
knowledge,  on  which  we  depend  for  our  code  of  honor,  our 
present  happiness,  and  our  future  salvation,  is  taken  on  trust 
from  the  statements  of  others. 

More  ominous  yet  is  the  fact  that  our  limited  experience 
does  not  inspire  us  with  implicit  trust  in  such  derived  knowl- 
edge. A  large  part  of  the  human  race  will  not  tell  the  truth, 
and  another  large  part  cannot  if  they  try.  The  history 
of  cross-questioning  in  law  courts  shows  that  only  a  small 
minority  of  witnesses  can  give  a  consistently  true  account 
of  what  they  have  actually  seen.  King  David  said  in  his 
haste  that  all  men  are  liars ;  and  we  may  assume  that  in 
calmer  hours  he  but  modified  slightly  the  numerical  adjec- 
tive. Even  the  works  of  our  most  erudite  scholars  are 
found  by  other  scholars  to  be  full  of  crass  errors  in  fact. 
No  textbook  on  geology  fifty  years  old  would  be  tolerated 


FACTS  1 1 

in  a  modern  university.  Warton's  "History  of  English 
Poetry,"  which  five  generations  ago  was  a  masterpiece 
in  the  field  of  literary  history,  has  now  been  almost  annotated 
out  of  existence  by  the  desperate  efforts  of  recent  editors 
to  correct  its  multitudinous  mistakes.  If  this  is  true  of 
professional  scholars,  how  frail  is  our  dependence  on  the  word 
of  the  untrained  amateur,  the  immature  undergraduate, 
the  impulsive  enthusiast ;  and  below  them  on  the  drudging, 
unlettered  masses. 

It  seems  at  first  as  if  under  such  conditions  one  must 
despair  of  genuine  knowledge ;  must  accept  the  universe 
as  a  terra  incognita,  peopled  with  fictions,  dreams,  and  de- 
lusions. Deeper  analysis,  however,  shows  that  this  is  not 
the  case.  Most  men  may  be  inaccurate  witnesses,  but  all 
their  separate  statements  are  not  falsehoods ;  and  truth 
may  usually  be  sifted  out  of  untruth  if  only  the  right  process 
is  known.  Modern  architects  have  learned  how  to  build 
the  most  heavy  sky-scrapers  on  foundations  that  are  little 
better  than  shifting  mud ;  and  on  a  foundation  of  testi- 
mony equally  unstable,  man  may  rear  a  reasonably  accurate 
body  of  knowledge,  once  he  has  found  the  method.  This 
task  lies  especially  in  the  province  of  the  speaker  or  writer. 
As  an  author  he  is  the  transmitter  of  thought,  therefore  the 
custodian  of  truth.  Every  statement  which  he  repeats 
without  examination  may  be  a  lie  which  he  thereby  endorses. 
In  the  historian  this  may  prove  a  gross  injustice  to  the  no- 
blest of  his  contemporaries,  or  a  libel  on  a  whole  people. 
In  books  on  science  and  finance  it  may  become  a  false  beacon, 
luring  misguided  readers  along  dangerous  paths  to  their 
ruin.  The  undergraduate  who  like  a  parrot  reports  an  un- 
tested statement  to  a  Discipline  Committee  may  find  him- 
self the  means  of  expelling  an  innocent  man  from  college 
or  of  rendering  an  honorable  amateur  ineligible  for  a  cham- 
pionship team. 


12  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

How  then  is  the  writer  to  grasp  and  impart  truth  in  this 
befogged  and  befibbed  world  ?  His  first  requisite  is  the 
power  to  repeat  accurately  to  others  what  has  already  been 
told  accurately  to  him.  The  man  who  does  this  becomes 
a  benefactor  of  his  race,  one  of  a  small  and  noble  aristocracy 
at  once  honest  and  scholarly.  Law  courts  either  reject 
second-hand  evidence  entirely  or  discount  it  heavily.  They 
do  this  because  they  have  learned  through  the  centuries 
that  few  people  can  reproduce  accurately  what  some  one 
else  has  told  them.  Error  grows  like  a  snowball  in  its 
passage  from  mind  to  mind.  Not  until  a  man  has  over- 
come this  tendency  has  he  any  right  to  meddle  with  the 
thought  of  his  age  by  entering  into  print.  Swift  tells  us 
in  his  "Voyage  to  Laputa"  that  the  commentators  on 
Homer  and  Aristotle  durst  not  come  near  these  worthies, 
so  wroth  were  the  two  great  men  at  the  way  that  they  had 
been  misinterpreted ;  yet  the  fate  of  Homer  and  Aristotle 
was  mild  compared  with  that  of  many  a  modern  scholar, 
whose  noblest  thoughts,  the  result,  perhaps,  of  years  of 
labor,  have  been  garbled  and  travestied  and  turned  from 
truth  into  falsehood  by  the  most  morally  irreproachable 
of  our  young  college  men,  not  in  examinations  only,  but 
in  conversation,  and  even  in  print. 

What  is  meant  by  truth  in  the  reproduction  of  another 
man's  statements  ?  Partly,  the  most  rigid  accuracy  of 
detail.  Any  man  may  forget  and  omit;  no  man  has  a 
right  to  forget  and  garble.  What  is  given  at  all  must  be 
given  correctly.  Details  are  often  sacred  things,  no  matter 
how  small  they  seem.  A  young  man  in  Europe  writes 
home  to  a  local  paper  that  one  thousand  innocent  people 
were  killed  in  a  recent  massacre,  when  the  real  number 
reported  to  him  was  only  ten.  The  difference  in  significance 
is  great,  for  the  larger  the  number  of  innocent  dead,  the 
stronger  is  the  presumption  that  the  brutal  spirit  account- 


FACTS  13 

able  for  their  fate  was  national  and  not  merely  local.  Had 
this  man  changed  10  to  1000  on  a  check  he  would  have 
received  five  years  at  hard  labor;  yet  is  not  a  printed  slur 
on  a  nation's  honor  more  criminal  than  some  slight  pilfering 
from  her  coffers  ?  In  Grant's  campaign  of  the  Wilderness 
a  careless  dispatching  officer,  copying  an  order,  inadvertently 
wrote  a  wrong  destination,  and  thereby  sent  thousands  of 
men  miles  from  their  proper  position  in  the  crisis  of  a  great 
action.  He  made  a  slip  of  only  a  word ;  yet  it  almost 
decided  a  battle,  and  might  have  decided  a  war. 

Mere  accuracy  of  detail,  however,  is  not  reproduction 
of  the  truth.  It  is  as  if  a  thief  who  had  stolen  the  Mona 
Lisa  should  return  its  mangled  fragments  as  an  honest 
equivalent  for  the  purloined  masterpiece.  Truth  in  pro- 
portion and  in  subordination  is  just  as  essential  as  truth  in 
details.  Relative  emphasis  on  different  points,  order, 
relation,  the  subservience  of  one  idea  to  another,  must  all 
be  preserved.  Stevenson  in  "Pulvis  et  Umbra"  stresses 
the  brutality  of  man's  origin  and  environment,  but  uses 
this  point  merely  as  a  means  to  prove  man's  nobility  in 
struggling  so  bravely  under  such  a  terrible  handicap.  The 
most  accurate  report  of  his  paragraphs  on  man's  origin  and 
surroundings,  separated  from  the  main  thought  to  which 
the  author  made  them  subordinate,  would  give  an  utterly 
distorted  conception  of  Stevenson's  meaning. 

Two  forms  of  writing  which  illustrate  how  the  principles 
so  far  discussed  can  be  applied  are  the  book  review  and  the 
precis.  A  reviewer  does  not  necessarily  give  an  orderly 
and  logical  digest  of  the  book  he  is  discussing;  but  it  is 
frequently  desirable  to  do  so,  especially  with  works  on 
science  or  social  and  military  conditions,  where  the  conclu- 
sions are  not  disputed,  the  style  is  a  minor  matter,  and  the 
substance  of  the  book  needs  to  be  widely  diffused  and  justly 
understood.     Such  a  review  would  bear  the  same  relation 


14  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

to  the  book  discussed  as  a  miniature  does  to  the  human 
face  it  copies.  The  main  points  of  the  author  must  be 
accurately  grasped  and  fairly  worded ;  the  reviewer  should 
apportion  his  emphasis  among  them  approximately  as  the 
author  does.  Detailed  statements  should  be  accurately 
reproduced  in  connection  with  the  main  points  which  they 
are  intended  to  illustrate;  and  since  all  details  cannot  be 
reproduced  in  such  limited  space,  those  chosen  should  be 
typical  of  those  omitted. 

The  precis  is  a  condensation  of  a  book,  essay,  or  lecture, 
and  aims  to  present  the  given  subject  matter  as  justly 
and  fully  as  possible  in  limited  space.  Its  practical  value 
lies  in  the  clearness  of  its  outline  and  the  saving  of  time  for 
its  readers.  It  has  also  a  great  disciplinary  value  as  train- 
ing for  the  man  who  makes  it ;  and  for  that  reason,  at  the 
stage  which  our  discussion  has  now  reached,  every  writer 
not  already  familiar  with  the  precis  should  practice  it  until 
he  feels  that  he  is  able  to  transmit  facts  to  another  at  least 
as  accurately  as  they  came  to  him.1 

V 

If  the  whole  world  could  be  trained  to  reproduce  facts 
and  conclusions  with  the  accuracy  which  we  have  just  out- 
lined, nothing  more  might  be  necessary.  Unfortunately 
this  is  not  the  case.  Trained,  scientific,  honest  minds  are 
always  a  little  minority  in  the  midst  of  the  wilfully  dishonest 
or  the  mentally  confused.  The  lawyer  or  judge  finds  him- 
self confronted  by  a  vast  mass  of  inconsistent  and  conflicting 
evidence,  all  of  which  cannot  be  true,  and  very  little  of  which 
can  be  blindly  trusted.  Even  worse,  perhaps,  is  the  situa- 
tion of  a  Commission  of  Inquiry  —  such,  for  example,  as 
the   Bryce  Commission  which   examined   into  the   alleged 

1  For  directions  in  writing  a  precis  see  Appendix  I,  p.3'7- 


FACTS  15 

atrocities  of  the  Germans  around  Louvain.     They  find  before 
them  a  chaos  of  contradictory  statements,  allegations  dis- 
torted  by   hatred,    exaggerated   by   hysteria,   or   concocted 
by  deliberate  dishonesty,  truth  suppressed  by  fear  or  mis- 
conceived through  sheer  stupidity.     Accurate  reproduction 
of  these  different  stories   in   manuscript  is   an   initial   step 
toward  the  truth,  but  merely  a  step.     The  actual  verity, 
the  faithful  picture  of  all  that  really  happened,   probably 
exists  in   no  living  brain,   could   not  be  obtained   by  bare 
recording  of  individual  impressions  if  the  members  of  such 
a   commission   were   mind-readers ;     it   must   be   toilsomely 
pieced   together   by   testing,    selection,   rejection,   and  even 
then  may  be  only  imperfectly  attained.     For  it  must  always 
be  remembered  that  in  the  world  of  human  experience  — 
as  contrasted  with  the  world  of  pure  mathematical  reason- 
ing —  much  of  the  time  we  can  gain  but  a  partial  and  broken 
conception  of  what  happened ;    even  the  most  rigorous  and 
judicious  method  can  frequently  give  only  that  as  a  result. 
We  found  our  plans  for  business  or  battle  alike  on  proba- 
bilities, not  certainties  ;  we  exalt  one  man  to  the  gallows  and 
another  to  the  presidential  chair  on  strong  but  inconclu- 
sive evidence.     Yet,  although  the  wise  man  as  well  as  the 
fool    must   proceed    on    guesswork,    the    wise    man    guesses 
shrewdly  in  the  light  of  all  obtainable  evidence  and  nine 
times  out  of  ten  succeeds,  while  the  fool  leaps  blindly  and 
usually  fails.     In  other  words,  though  the  systematic  weigh- 
ing of  evidence  may  produce  only  fragmentary  knowledge, 
such  knowledge  is  often  of  inestimable  value  in  practical 
affairs. 

What  then  is  the  proper  method  of  procedure  ?  Let  us 
illustrate  its  nature  in  a  particular  case.  Let  us  suppose 
there  have  been  labor  troubles  of  a  most  serious  type  in 
a  certain  mining  district;  and  a  Commissioner  has  been 
sent  by   the   Federal  Government  to  ascertain   the   facts. 


16  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

He  hears  lengthy  statements  from  union  laborers,  strike 
breakers,  capitalists,  superintendents,  innocent  bystanders, 
and  officers  of  the  militia ;  reduces  all  these  statements 
to  writing,  and  then  compares  them.  Immediately  the 
manuscript  begins  to  bristle  with  interrogation  marks. 
The  strikers  declare  that  their  pay  was  not  a  living  wage. 
Was  it  ?  They  say  that  they  were  forced  to  buy  their 
groceries  from  the  company's  stores.  Were  they  ?  The 
militia  assert  that  one  of  their  number  was  shot  intention- 
ally by  strikers ;  the  union  men  answer  that  he  was  the 
victim  of  a  private  grudge.  Which  is  right  ?  And  so  the 
dispute  goes  on.  Let  us  assume  that  the  systematic  Com- 
missioner gradually  reduces  the  whole  problem  to  a  long  list 
of  such  questions,  each  kept  separate  from  the  others ;  that 
with  a  pair  of  scissors  he  clips  from  the  carbon  copy  of  the 
manuscript  all  the  answers  to  each,  and  ranges  them,  affirma- 
tive or  negative,  under  their  respective  headings. 

The  first  discovery  resulting  from  this  method  is  that 
there  are  several  details  on  which  all  parties  agree.  Evi- 
dently at  these  points  the  truth  is  already  attained.  If 
men  with  adverse  interests,  hating  each  other,  and  giving 
each  other  the  lie  about  most  matters,  agree  on  one  certain 
detail,  who  shall  say  them  no  ?  Here  are  a  few  reliable  facts 
that  begin  to  loom  through  the  confusion  like  hilltops 
through  dissipating  mist.  They  may  be  minor  points; 
but  if  considered  carefully  they  sometimes  help  to  show 
the  general  contour  of  the  landscape. 

A  further  search  usually  reveals  other  questions  as  to 
which  the  evidence  is  overwhelmingly  on  one  side;  in  which 
the  weaker  party  disputes  and  denies  without  definite  evi- 
dence, while  the  stronger  piles  up  affidavits,  statistics, 
and  details.  The  contrast  between  the  two  sides,  though 
not  perhaps  wholly  convincing,  is  certainly  impressive; 
and  if  the  evidence  of  the  preponderating  party  will  bear 


FACTS  17 

the  most  rigorous  tests  —  such  as  will  be  discussed  in  a 
moment  —  absolute  certainty  may  follow. 

There  remain  a  large  number  of  questions,  each  with  a 
formidable  mass  of  testimony  on  either  side.  Here  the 
affirmative  and  negative  statements  must  be  weighed  against 
each  other  in  a  mental  balance,  and  as  just  a  decision  made 
as  possible,  though  it  avowedly  decides  what  is  probably, 
not  what  is  certainly,  right.  The  various  devices  for  weigh- 
ing in  this  balance  involve  the  most  intricate  and  delicate 
machinery  of  thought  and  vary  so  much  in  individual  cases 
that  they  can  be  best  discussed  if  the  typical  case  of  the 
Commissioner  is  temporarily  laid  aside,  to  be  taken  up  again 
later. 

Tests  of  evidence  are  frequently  classified  under  the  heads 
of  honesty,  prejudice,  and  mental  competence;  but  many 
interrelations,  many  subordinate  and  possibly  supplemen- 
tary headings  have  to  be  considered  in  facing  a  practical 
problem.  Honesty  in  the  witness  is  exceedingly  important; 
yet  notorious  criminals,  Becker,  for  instance,  have  been 
executed  on  the  testimony  of  men  who  acknowledged  a 
past  replete  with  falsehood.  There  is  a  stupid  dishonesty 
which  from  sheer  force  of  habit  lies  with  verminlike  persist- 
ency; there  is  an  intelligent  dishonesty  which  will  lie  atro- 
ciously for  great  stakes  but  tell  the  unvarnished  truth  when 
there  is  little  or  nothing  to  gain  by  falsehood.  Also  consist- 
ency is  almost  as  important  a  test  as  is  the  witness's  char- 
acter for  veracity.  If  all  the  details  of  a  man's  story  are 
consistent  with  each  other,  and  consistent,  to  the  most 
minute  detail,  with  the  stories  of  several  other  men,  he  may 
have  lied  repeatedly  in  the  past,  but  he  is  probably  telling 
the  truth  now ;  so  hard  is  it  for  even  the  most  ingenious 
brain  to  evolve  fictions  that  will  fit  in  at  every  point  with 
realities.  Such  testimony  from  an  avowedly  dishonest 
man,  however,  becomes  worthy  of  consideration  only  when 
c 


1 8  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

it  has  been  subjected  to  a  searching  cross  examination, 
which  would  reveal  any  discrepancies  that  existed. 

Mental  competence  is  an  important  test;  but  mental 
competence  is  a  vague  term  and  needs  defining.  The  same 
man  may  have  great  powers  of  judgment  and  remarkable 
weakness  of  memory;  might  judge  almost  infallibly  on 
facts  presented  by  others  and  yet  be  highly  unreliable  con- 
cerning events  of  which  he  had  long  ago  been  an  eye-witness. 
Then,  too,  when  we  leave  the  courtroom  for  more  literary 
arenas  of  thought,  what  shall  we  say  of  the  imaginative  tem- 
perament, which  lives  partly  in  a  universe  of  its  own  fancies 
and  may  be  constitutionally  unable  to  separate  the  world 
of  realities  from  its  own  superimposed  world  of  dreams  ? 
Here  arises  a  vital  problem  in  writing  biographies  of  geniuses 
or  books  on  the  history  of  art  and  literature.  The  very 
men  who  in  some  ways  are  the  most  competent  judges  are 
accustomed  to  think  of  external  facts  as  the  crude  material 
which  they  may  melt  and  reshape  in  their  imaginative  fur- 
nace ;  they  are  at  once  the  most  and  the  least  reliable  of  wit- 
nesses. Again,  there  are  problems  in  life  which  depend 
on  sympathy  as  well  as  logic ;  and  the  dependable  witness 
is  he  who  has  discerning  sympathy  —  intelligent  fellow  feel- 
ing and  not  blind  sentimentalism.  Was  Byron  sincere 
behind  his  melodramatic  pose,  or  was  he  an  unhallowed  com- 
pound of  misanthropy  and  gigantic  vanity  ?  Mere  logic 
could  never  answer;  the  only  convincing  answer  can  result 
from  that  harmonious  action  of  the  brain  and  heart  which 
we  have  called  discerning  sympathy.  Several  of  Byron's 
contemporaries,  Scott  among  them,  had  this  quality;  and 
because  we  feel  its  presence  in  them  we  respect  their  testi- 
mony concerning  the  redeeming  side  of  the  passionate 
prodigal  son  of  literature. 

Associated  sometimes  with  the  question  of  the  witness's 
honesty,  sometimes  with  that  of  his  mental  dependability 


FACTS  19 

is  a  valuable  supplementary  test,  the  definiteness  or  vague- 
ness of  his  account.  The  excess  of  hazy  generalities  in 
Dr.  Cook's  lectures  on  his  Polar  journey  first  awakened 
public  suspicion.  Some  of  the  witnesses  before  an  Inquiry 
Commission  present  plentiful  statistics  and  masses  of  detail, 
while  others  deal  in  vague  generalizations.  To  be  sure, 
if  the  details  offered  are  such  that  they  cannot  possibly  be 
verified  they  may  prove  nothing  but  the  speaker's  imagi- 
native powers.  Gulliver  gave  unlimited  details  about  the 
non-existent  island  of  Lilliput  because  he  knew  that  no 
one  would  sail  there  to  expose  him.  If,  however,  the  wit- 
ness's details  are  such  that  an  enemy  could  disprove  them 
were  they  false,  the  mere  fact  that  he  dares  to  offer 
them  is  evidence  of  his  truthfulness.  Every  definite  state- 
ment then  becomes  a  test ;  and  he  is  voluntarily  meeting 
as  many  tests  as  possible.  If  a  man's  honesty  is  admitted, 
the  fuller  his  statement  of  concrete  facts,  the  greater  its 
probative  value.  Details  and  statistics  show  either  that 
he  has  had  unusual  opportunities  for  acquiring  knowledge 
or  else  that  he  has  unusual  powers  for  using  such  oppor- 
tunities as  were  given  —  in  either  case  that  he  is  mentally 
an  exceedingly  reliable  man. 

The  question  of  bias  or  prejudice  is  of  great  importance. 
If  a  writer's  .statements  run  parallel  to  his  prepossession, 
they  should  be  discounted ;  if  counter  to  it,  they  should  be 
given  additional  weight.  Yet  the  amount  to  be  added  or 
subtracted  —  in  the  case  of  a  man  who,  though  biased,  is 
thoroughly  honest  —  varies  greatly  according  to  circum- 
stances. Prejudice  is  exceedingly  distorting  in  matters 
of  opinion  or  inference ;  in  questions  determined  by  count- 
ing, by  measurement,  or  by  any  other  mechanical  action  of 
the  hand  or  brain,  it  may  become  almost  negligible.  An 
honest  but  jealous  woman  would  give  a  very  unreliable 
verdict  on  her  rival's  beauty,  but  a  reasonably  trustworthy 


20  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

statement  as  to  the  latter's  height  and  color  of  hair.  The 
two  largest  stained  windows  in  England  are  in  York  and 
Gloucester  cathedrals.  A  conscientious  verger  of  York, 
who  had  measured  both,  could  be  trusted  as  to  their  relative 
dimensions  but  not  concerning  their  relative  value  as  works 
of  art.  Also,  the  more  intelligent  the  writer,  the  more  the 
thinking  man's  instinctive  love  of  accuracy  will  struggle 
against  his  bias  and  enable  him  to  tell  the  exact  truth,  if 
he  honestly  wishes  to  do  so.  On  the  other  hand,  violent 
prejudice  may  at  times  develop  into  temporary  dishonesty. 
Such  overwhelming  passions  as  patriotism  and  mother 
love  may,  under  peculiar  and  transitory  conditions,  drag 
people  of  the  noblest  character  into  deliberate  falsehood. 
Dulce  est  pro  patria  mentiri,  says  the  sardonic  proverb, 
"Sweet  it  is  to  lie  for  one's  country";  and  the  statements 
of  impassioned  patriots,  mothers,  and  partisans  should 
always  be  taken  only  for  what  they  are  worth. 

Another  test  of  any  statement  presented  is  what  is  called 
its  "antecedent  probability,"  that  is,  the  question  whether 
our  whole  background  of  experience  in  related  matters 
makes  it  seem  probable  or  preposterous  that  such  a  thing 
could  happen.  "Who  would  believe,"  says  a  character  in 
Shakespeare's  "Tempest," 

"  that  there  were  such  men 
Whose  heads  stood  in  their  breasts?" 

The  hearer's  doubt  in  this  case  is  due,  not  to  any  known 
dishonesty  or  bias  or  stupidity  in  the  teller,  but  to  the  pre- 
posterous nature  of  the  thing  told.  Yet  here  also  a  word 
of  caution  is  needed.  The  rich  do  not  always  think  like 
the  poor,  nor  the  Italians  like  the  Anglo-Saxons,  nor  the 
young  like  the  old,  nor  decadent  criminals  like  healthy- 
minded  jurists.  "Put  yourself  in  the  other  man's  place," 
says  the  proverb ;  but  to  put  yourself  in  his  place  when  your 


FACTS  21 

whole  attitude  toward  life  is  different  from  his  and  then  to 
reason  out  what  you  would  have  done  is  to  believe  him  when 
he  lies  and  doubt  him  when  he  tells  the  truth.  Especially 
should  this  caution  be  borne  in  mind  when  :he  question 
concerns  the  conduct  of  foreign  races,  or  of  social  types 
with  which  the  investigators  are  not  familiar. 

Such  are  the  general  principles  for  sifting  conflicting 
statements  on  any  problem.  Now  let  this  be  applied  to 
the  Federal  Commissioner,  whose  case  was  recently  dis- 
cussed as  a  typical  one.  Guided  by  the  principles  just 
outlined,  he  would  go  through  his  accumulated  mass  of 
evidence.  He  would  encounter  certain  facts  admitted  by 
all ;  others  denied  by  one  side,  it  is  true,  but  overwhelmingly 
established  by  their  opponents ;  and  many  with  much  evi- 
dence on  both  sides  where  weighing  and  sifting  showed 
one  party  to  be  apparently  more  trustworthy  than  the  other. 
On  the  strength  of  this  he  would  be  in  a  position  to  give  a 
final  verdict,  obviously  not  infallible,  but  as  righteous 
and  intelligent  as  the  limited  human  mind  can  hope  to 
achieve. 

Having  fulfilled  his  duty  as  judge,  the  Commissioner 
would  next  face  the  problem  of  authorship,  in  this  case  the 
writing  of  the  report  embodying  his  verdict.  Such  a  report 
is  intended,  in  part  at  least,  for  the  public,  for  readers  not 
only  ignorant  of  many  facts  but  also  woefully  confused  as 
to  the  issues  involved.  To  meet  their  needs,  the  pamphlet 
would  naturally  open  with  a  clear  definition  of  the  problem 
and  the  main  questions  connected  with  it.  Then  the  dis- 
cussion of  these  questions  should  follow  in  coherent  order, 
usually  seriatim.  The  subject  matter  under  each  heading 
presents  a  problem  in  selection  and  rejection.  The  public 
wish  to  know  not  only  the  final  decision  but  also  the  general 
nature  of  the  grounds  on  which  that  decision  was  based. 
On  the  other  hand,  they  cannot  and  will  not  traverse  all 


22  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

that  dreary  chaos  of  controversy  from  which  it  is  the  busi- 
ness of  the  Commissioner  to  evolve  order.  They  wish  a  few 
brief  typical  examples  of  the  evidence  considered,  some 
general  statement  as  to  the  nature  of  testimony  not  quoted 
and  as  to  the  line  of  reasoning  followed  by  the  judge.  More- 
over, the  majority  of  them  have  little  idea  of  the  relative 
importance  of  the  different  questions  involved.  It  is  the 
writer's  duty  by  varying  the  stress  on  different  aspects 
of  the  problem  to  distinguish  the  more  from  the  less  impor- 
tant; otherwise  he  may  give  a  distorted  caricature  of  truth 
instead  of  the  truth  itself.  Many  incidental  stumbling 
blocks  will  necessarily  be  met  with  which  cannot  be  prepared 
for  in  advance.  However,  both  in  sifting  material  and  in 
writing  the  final  pamphlet  the  following  items  are  always 
essential :  a  clear  conception  and  definition  of  the  questions 
involved ;  a  systematic  division  of  material,  so  that  each 
problem  may  be  analyzed  and  discussed  by  itself;  accuracy 
in  the  handling  of  detail ;  honesty  in  the  weighing  of  evi- 
dence;  fairness  in  the  sense  of  proportion. 

The  above  method  of  reasoning  and  writing  is  not  con- 
fined to  industrial  problems.  Any  one  who  wishes  a  more 
literary  subject  may  sift  the  many  and  conflicting  state- 
ments as  to  the  character  of  Coleridge  or  of  Byron.  If  he 
is  a  sportsman  he  may  winnow  the  seemingly  irreconcilable 
testimony  as  to  a  certain  athlete's  ineligibility,  or  as  to  the 
exact  extent  of  professionalism  in  amateur  sports.  Wherever 
witnesses  disagree  and  a  public  desires  to  know  the  truth, 
the  procedure  which  has  just  been  outlined  can  be  applied. 

The  usefulness  of  such  procedure  as  we  have  discussed 
is  not  confined  to  the  production  of  a  precis  (including  the 
related  book  review)  and  the  report  of  an  Inquiry  Board. 
Neither  is  it  confined  to  the  training  which  enables  an  author 
to  gather  a  wealth  of  material  and  to  use  this  in  rounding 
out  and   vitalizing  the  framework  of  his  projected  essay. 


FACTS  23 

Beyond  all  that  a  rich  store  of  gathered  facts  has  other 
influences,  far  reaching,  although  indirect.  By  the  emotions 
and  mental  attitudes  which  it  produces,  this  wealth  uncon- 
sciously enriches  one's  style.  The  emotional  residuum  of 
uncounted  observations,  experiments,  and  experiences  molded 
the  noble  language  of  the  old  Hebrew  writer  when  he  said  : 
"I  have  been  young  and  now  am  old  ;  yet  have  I  not  seen  the 
righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  their  bread."  By 
the  same  wealth  of  knowledge,  though  pessimistic  instead  of 
cheerful,  Swift  gave  edge  to  the  trenchant  satire  in  which  he 
declared  that  the  past  history  of  England  "was  only  a  heap 
of  conspiracies,  rebellions,  murders,  massacres,  revolutions, 
banishments,  the  very  worst  effects  that  avarice,  faction, 
hypocrisy,  perfidiousness,  cruelty,  rage,  madness,  hatred, 
envy,  lust,  malice,  or  ambition,  could  produce."  Lastly, 
as  will  be  shown  in  the  next  chapter,  this  accumulated  knowl- 
edge of  details  becomes  the  fertile  soil  out  of  which  ideas 
generate  and  a  wise  attitude  toward  the  universe  becomes 
possible. 


CHAPTER   II 

THOUGHT 


Until  a  fact  is  put  with  other  facts  and  built  upon,  or 
until  it  is  seized  by  the  emotions  and  utilized  by  life,  it  re- 
mains just  a  fact,  a  dead,  cold  thing,  uninspiring  and  not 
valuable.  Thinking  and  feeling  make  use  of  facts.  Think- 
ing especially,  as  has  been  made  clear  in  the  last  chapter, 
tests  facts,  arranges  and  compounds  them  into  true  con- 
clusions. There  is  not  much  of  value  to  be  done  with  facts 
unless  one  is  willing  to  think  about  them. 

This,  however,  is  not  the  only  way  in  which  thinking  is 
connected  with  good  writing.  Sometimes  the  man  about  to 
write  begins  with  an  array  of  facts ;  but  quite  as  frequently 
the  germ  and  first  form  of  that  which  is  to  be  written  is  a 
thought,  a  thought  complete  as  a  cell  is  complete,  and 
needing  only  the  test  of  truth  and  a  logical  development. 
This  is  what  is  meant  when  it  is  said  that  a  man  has  an 
"idea."  It  is  not  a  fact  that  he  is  possessed  of;  it  is  a 
thought ;  a  thought  that  must  be  tested  —  so  far  as  it  is 
possible  to  do  so  —  by  facts ;  which  must  be  developed  by 
logical  processes.  The  brain,  so  psychologists  tell  us,  acts 
with  kaleidoscopic  rapidity.  It  shakes  together  an  "idea" 
with  a  single  twist  —  and  there  is  a  thought  ready  to  be 
tested  for  its  worth.  Such  a  rapid  mental  operation,  for 
example,  in  the  brain  of  the  French  philosopher  Rousseau, 
may  have  produced  the  idea  that  there  should  be  essential 

24 


THOUGHT  25 

equality  among  men.  The  fire  and  slaughter  of  the  French 
Revolution  tested  it  by  facts. 

Some  men  sparkle  with  ideas  whenever  life  surges  high 
for  them  and  energy  pulses  through  the  brain.  Most  of 
us  are  favored  now  and  then  by  something  that  may  be 
called  an  idea,  or  at  least  a  new  and  personal  thought. 
Some  unfortunates  never  have  a  real  idea  from  one  week's 
end  to  another.  But  every  man  who  speaks  or  writes  must 
handle  thoughts,  must  test  them,  must  develop  them,  pre- 
cisely as  he  must  handle  facts  —  if  not  his  own  thoughts, 
why  then  another's.  A  thought  after  all  is  merely  a  rela- 
tionship. When  I  connect  the  idea  of  food  with  the  idea 
of  time,  the  thought  "It  must  be  lunch  time"  flashes  across 
my  nervous  system.  This  is  an  interesting  idea,  but  scarcely 
an  original  one.  When  I  connect  the  idea  of  war  with  that 
of  death,  and  these  two  with  the  loss  of  so  many  willing  hands 
made  idle  forever,  the  thought  "War  is  waste"  burns 
itself  into  my  mind.  This  too  is  not  highly  original ;  but 
it  is  valuable ;  it  is  worth  trying  out  by  the  facts ;  it  is 
worthy  of  development. 

Here  then  is  the  essence  of  this  discussion.  Given  a 
relationship  brought  forward  by  the  brain,  an  idea  as  we 
call  it,  how  can  the  truth  of  that  thought  be  tested,  how  can  it 
be  developed  so  as  to  be  useful  for  thinker  and  reader  alike  ? 

The  first  moral  to  be  drawn  is  painfully  obvious.  Just 
as  it  is  idle  to  handle  facts  until  one  is  certain  that  they  are 
facts,  so  it  is  a  waste  of  time  to  develop  a  thought  until  one 
is  sure  that  the  thought  is  worth  developing.  Why  are  so 
many  "themes"  worth  just  the  price  of  waste  paper  in  a 
glutted  market  ?  Because  they  are  deficient  in  fact  or  weak 
in  thought.  It  is  worse  than  useless  to  spend  time  in  learn- 
ing to  write  unless  one  is  willing  to  search  for  and  capture 
thought.  But  granted  that  eager  stir  of  the  mind  in  the 
midst  of  which  real  ideas  are  born,  granted  an  idea  at  least 


26  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

once  a  week,  which  is  quite  often  enough  for  the  purpose, 
how  is  the  infant  to  be  raised  and  put  to  work  ?  That  is  the 
question. 

An  idea,  as  it  has  been  described  in  the  previous  para- 
graphs, is  really  a  hypothesis ;  that  is,  a  tentative  statement 
whose  truth  remains  to  be  proved.  For  example,  many 
thinkers,  from  the  Greeks  down  to  Goethe,  had  put  forth 
the  idea,  which  was  really  a  hypothesis,  that  life  proceeds 
by  evolution,  from  lower  forms  to  higher  forms,  from  beast 
to  man,  from  savage  to  civilization.  It  remained  for  Charles 
Darwin,  in  his  "Origin  of  Species,"  to  test  this  hypothesis 
by  laboriously  gathered  facts,  and  by  reasoning  based 
thereon.  Indeed,  nearly  every  great  advance  of  the  human 
intellect  has  begun  with  an  idea,  and  has  proceeded  by  means 
of  a  trying-out  according  to  reason  and  according  to  the 
facts.  So  with  the  lesser  steps  of  personal  development.  It 
occurs  to  a  teacher  in  a  moment  of  illumination  that  the 
average  undergraduate  would  learn  more  if  he  did  more 
thinking  and  less  listening  in  the  classroom.  Is  this  true  ? 
There  is  no  way  of  discovering  except  to  try  it  out  by  the 
facts  and  to  use  reason  where  facts  fail.  That  the  stars  are 
formed  of  compacted  nebula,  and  that  education  is  not  the 
same  as  information,  are  both  hypotheses.  The  first  might 
make  a  book ;  the  second  an  editorial ;  the  first  is  a  sub- 
ject for  a  lifetime  of  study;  the  second  for  a  day's  thinking; 
but  the  same  principles  of  test  and  development  apply  to 
both.     What  are  these  principles  ? 

Let  us  begin  with  a  simple  hypothesis  such  as  one  meets 
with  in  any  study  of  scientific  method.  Let  us  endeavor 
to  prove  that  an  acid  and  a  base  will  unite  to  form  a  salt. 
Given  a  test-tube,  some  hydrochloric  acid,  and  a  copper 
cent,  the  test  can  be  made  and  made  successfully.  When 
the  facts  are  recorded  the  hypothesis  has  been  made  good. 

But  few  thoughts  that  men  have  to  deal  with  in  the  course 


THOUGHT  27 

of  everyday  experience  are  as  simple  as  this  one.  When 
the  idea  involves  life  values  as  well  as  the  attributes  of  dead 
things,  it  becomes  more  complex.  Let  us  choose  a  thought 
whose  working  out  will  require  more  than  an  experiment 
in  elementary  chemistry:  "The  best  way  to  prepare  for 
war  is  to  prepare  for  peace." 

The  first  step  is  to  test  the  truth  of  this  proposition.  But 
the  term  "truth"  is  not  so  simple  as  it  looks.  '"What  is 
truth  ?'  said  jesting  Pilate,  and  did  not  stay  for  an  answer." 
There  is  truth  to  facts ;  there  is  truth  to  reason  when  facts 
fail  us ;  and  there  is  emotional  truth,  which  is  quite  a  dif- 
ferent matter.  Truth  to  facts  usually  deserves  the  first 
consideration. 

What  are  the  facts  which  may  be  used  to  support  the 
assertion  that  the  best  way  to  prepare  for  war  is  to  prepare 
for  peace  ?  They  may  be  sought  for  and  obtained  by  a 
series  of  questions.  What  is  required  for  a  successful  prepara- 
tion for  war  ?  One  answers,  an  adequate  army  and  navy ; 
sufficient  armament  and  munitions ;  military  skill  to  direct 
the  whole.  A  little  more  thinking  brings  the  further  answer, 
an  industrial  and  economic  system  that  will  support  the 
enormous  endeavor  necessary  for  modern  war.  These 
one  may  fairly  call  facts.  And  now  what  is  preparation 
for  peace  ?  Efficiency,  organization,  the  development  of 
trained  brains,  an  emphasis  upon  self-dependence  rather 
than  upon  aggression,  a  preference  of  conquests  over  nature 
to  conquests  over  man.  These  also  are  facts.  Finally, 
what  will  be  the  effect  of  a  preparation  for  peace  upon  the 
possible  enemy  ?  In  measure  as  the  peaceful  nation  is 
unaggressive  though  potentially  powerful,  desirous  of  peace 
though  efficient  for  war,  in  like  measure,  or  at  least  in  some 
measure,  the  enemy  will  be  slow  to  attack.  This  also  is  a 
fact.  Grouped  with  the  others,  does  it  or  does  it  not  support 
the  hypothesis  ? 


28  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

/The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  there  are  not  facts  enough 
here  either  to  prove  or  to  disprove  the  proposition ;  and  it 
is  doubtful  whether,  as  the  world  stands  at  this  time,  enough 
could  be  gathered.  If  we  are  to  come  to  any  conclusion 
we  must  trust  to  a  further  process,  reason,  the  power  of 
convincing  ourselves  by  logical  processes  of  thought,  the 
power  which,  when  all  the  facts  available  have  been  obtained, 
will  put  two  and  two  together  to  make  four.  For  example, 
as  regards  the  question  of  peace  and  war,  what  can  be  de- 
duced from  the  experience  of  other  nations  where  the  facts 
cited  above  have  existed  and  have  led  either  to  peace  or 
to  war  ?  What  inductions  can  be  made  from  these  facts 
as  regards  the  situation  here  in  America  ?  What  analogies 
can  be  found  to  this  problem  in  man's  experience  in  other 
fields  than  war  ? 

It  is  a  very  difficult  problem.  The  testing  of  all  real 
thought  is  difficult ;  if  it  is  easy  there  has  been  no  real 
thought!  But  this,  at  least,  has  been  established  by] these 
preliminaries  :  the  first  task  of  the  man  with  an  idea  is  to 
get  the  facts  available,  the  next  is  to  apply  his  reason  to 
the  handling  of  these  facts.  It  may  be  well  to  begin  again 
in  this  discussion,  with  another  hypothesis. 

As  a  result  of  his  experience  with  patients  suffering  from 
hysteria,  the  Viennese  doctor  Freud  conceived  the  idea 
that  dreams,  instead  of  being  merely  wild  vagaries  of  the 
relaxed  brain,  were,  in  their  own  way,  coherent,  logical, 
and  susceptible  of  interpretation.  His  idea  was  that  a 
man's  dream  contains  a  suppressed  wish.  The  many  de- 
sires for  things  unobtainable  by  the  will  in  the  daytime 
find  vent  in  dreams,  and  under  strange  disguises  make 
stories  of  their  own  in  sleep.  The  facts  to  be  handled  in 
endeavoring  to  prove  this  supposition  were  many.  He 
collected  them.  There  were  the  facts  as  to  what  men  and 
women  actually  dreamed.     There  were  the  facts  as  to  what 


THOUGHT  29 

these  same  men  and  women  had  done  the  day  before  the 
dreams  in  question.  There  were  the  facts  —  most  difficult 
to  secure  —  of  the  secret  desires  his  patients  had  suppressed, 
had  forced,  as  it  were,  below  the  level  of  consciousness. 
This  was  but  a  beginning.  The  next  step  was  to  connect 
the  three  sets  of  facts.  If  a  given  lawyer,  let  us  say,  had 
talked  in  all  friendliness  with  a  rival  whom  he  admired,  but 
envied ;  if  he  had  professed  his  admiration,  but  concealed, 
even  from  himself,  his  envy;  if  in  a  dream  that  night  he 
had  seen  his  rival  conduct  a  case  with  such  stupidity  that 
the  court  was  dissolved  in  scornful  laughter,  —  why  then, 
what  inference  was  to  be  made  ?  Freud,  by  a  process  of 
simple  deduction,  decided  that  the  envy  suppressed  in  the 
daytime,  revealed  itself,  disguised  in  a  story,  at  night. 
Then  adding  to  this  case  a  hundred  others  he  was  able,  by 
reason  again,  to  generalize  upon  his  facts,  to  say  that  such 
a  relationship  among  them  was  generally  true.  And  so  he 
maintained  that  his  hypothesis  was  verified. 

Whether  he  was  right  or  not,  whether  anyone  is  right  when, 
after  gathering  his  facts  and  applying  reason,  he  asserts 
the  truth  of  his  hypothesis,  depends  upon  the  worth  of  the 
facts  and  upon  the  soundness  of  the  reasoning.  If  the  facts 
are  insufficient,  or  if  they  are  not  facts,  the  hypothesis  falls. 
If  the  reasoning  is  fallacious,  the  hypothesis  remains  a 
hypothesis  merely.  I  can  prove  with  much  effectiveness 
that  religion  is  merely  an  inheritance  from  ghost  fear.  The 
study  of  every  primitive  race  gives  facts  to  support  my 
conclusion.  The  tracing  back  of  every  religious  ceremony 
confirms  it.  The  line  of  evolution,  proceeding  from  the 
savage  afraid  of  his  friend's  ghost  to  the  prophet  in  awe  of 
Jehovah,  is  direct  and  whole.  But  beware  of  fallacies. 
Man,  chemically  considered,  is  a  compound  of  a  few  simple  ele- 
ments only,  and  yet  one  learns  little  of  man  by  knowing 
what  he  is  made  of.     Fear  is  only  a  muscular  contraction  plus 


30  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

a  mental  image,  but  the  combination  wrecks  lives  and  king- 
doms, shakes  beliefs,  and  gives  rise  to  philosophies.  And 
so  with  religion,  which  the  facts  of  origin  alone  fail  in  any- 
way to  define  or  explain. 

And  thus  the  first  step  in  the  testing  of  the  truth  of  thought 
is  to  get  the  facts,  and  the  second  is  to  apply  these  facts  by 
sound  reasoning.  Common  sense  will  take  the  place  of 
elaborate  reasoning  processes,  when  only  common  thoughts 
are  in  question ;  for  common  sense  is  precisely  the  applica- 
tion, by  means  of  short-cut  reasoning,  of  our  own  experience 
to  the  case  in  hand.  But  common  sense  is  not  a  safeguard 
in  all  questions  unless  it  is  really  uncommon  sense  of  a  very 
high  order.  Few  men  under  middle  age  have  had  sufficient 
experience  to  enable  them  to  judge  fairly  of  thoughts  that 
transcend  their  own  narrow  field.  "There  aint  no  sech 
animal,"  said  the  country  bumpkin  of  the  giraffe.  "There 
is  no  such  woman,"  says  the  undergraduate  of  Ibsen's 
Hedda  Gabler,  trusting  to  what  he  calls  his  common  sense. 
And  ideas  are  no  more  exempt  from  such  misjudgments 
than  women  and  giraffes.  Only  reasoning,  and  clear  and 
sound  reasoning,  will  follow  the  uncommon  thought,  which 
means  the  new,  the  valuable  thought,  into  airy  regions 
and  bring  it  back  to  earth. 

If  the  world  were  made  up  entirely  of  mathematics, 
chemistry,  physics,  and  economics,  the  foregoing  explana- 
tion of  what  thought  is  and  how  it  must  be  proved  in  writing, 
might  conclude  with  advice  to  wrestle  with  the  next  idea 
that  comes  and  learn  by  experience  the  truth  of  what  has 
been  said.  But  life  is  not  all  mathematics;  the  brain 
uses  reason,  but  is  seldom  governed  by  it;  intuition  has 
more  practical  importance  sometimes  than  logic ;  and  when 
a  man  makes  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing,  it  is  nine  times 
because  he  "feels  like  it,"  to  once  because  he  has  reasoned 
it  out.     As  psychologists  and  philosophers  alike  have  shown 


THOUGHT  3 1 

us,  we  decide  upon  our  course  of  action  first  and  find  our 
reasons  afterwards  ;  we  choose  a  college,  vote  the  Republican 
ticket,  or  select  a  friend,  and  then  and  only  then  reason 
out  the  wherefore  and  the  why.  Back  of  the  reason,  indif- 
ferent often  to  the  facts,  lie  our  emotions,  our  prejudice, 
our  tendencies  of  mind,  which  will  usually  determine  in 
advance  whether  in  any  question  the  conservative  or  the 
radical,  the  pessimistic  or  the  optimistic  side  will  win  the 
day  with  us.  In  the  least  decision  of  the  will,  influences 
figure  that  come  from  the  hidden  springs  of  ancestral  life 
itself.  Upon  all  such  influences  reason  acts  as  a  partial 
control,  but  it  cannot  do  away  with  them ;  for  logic,  which 
is  certainly  the  law  of  matter,  is  not  always  the  law  of  life. 

Therefore  a  new  problem  presents  itself  to  the  man  who 
would  learn  to  write  —  one  too  little  considered  in  formal 
textbooks  on  composition.  Truth  to  facts,  truth  to  reason 
have  been  defined ;  but  what  is  emotional  truth  ?  For 
clearly  there  will  be  many  questions  where  the  way  men 
feel  about  facts  is  quite  as  important  as  the  facts  themselves ; 
and  just  as  many  where  the  way  one  feels  is  no  less  important 
than  the  way  one  thinks. 

Suppose  that  one  chooses  for  consideration  the  not  very 
radical  idea  that  poverty  is  at  the  root  of  inefficiency  and 
crime.  Bernard  Shaw,  in  his  "First  Aid  for  Critics,"  pref- 
aced to  his  play  "Major  Barbara,"  discusses  this  thought 
with  convincing  force,  backs  up  his  proof  with  an  abundance 
of  facts,  turns  and  twists  it  by  means  of  clear  reasoning 
until  it  is  made  to  apply  to  many  ills  of  modern  society, 
and  afterwards  drives  home  the  principle  concretely  in  the 
play.  Is  it  true  ?  For  him,  for  the  problems  he  discusses, 
one  can  scarcely  deny  the  validity  of  the  statement.  It 
survives  the  test  of  fact,  the  test  of  reason  ;  it  is  emotionally 
true  also,  for  men  who  view  the  world  as  Shaw  views  it 
must  feel  that  his  idea  is  right. 


32  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

But  what  about  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  who  courted  "Our 
Lady  Poverty,"  who  "professed  poverty  before  God  and 
before  men"  as  the  nearest  road  to  humility  of  spirit, 
simplicity  of  soul,  and  true  usefulness !  What  of  the  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  men  and  women  who,  not  necessarily 
condemning  wealth  in  others,  have  for  themselves  followed 
the  precept,  "Take  no  thought  for  your  life,  what  ye  shall 
eat;  neither  for  the  body,  what  ye  shall  put  on."  Facts, 
the  facts  of  history,  prove  that  their  influence  upon  the 
world  has  been  invaluable ;  for  if  they  have  not  contributed 
to  industrial  efficiency  they  have  certainly  helped  to  save 
civilization  from  a  brutish  dependence  upon  mere  subsistence 
as  a  chief  end  of  life.  Indeed,  reason  proves  that  there 
must  be  such  individuals  and  such  a  point  of  view  if  we  are 
not  to  sacrifice  pity,  humility,  love,  and  all  the  most  human 
of  the  virtues  to  a  soulless  efficiency  that  will  give  a  man 
all  the  comforts  of  life  without  the  character  to  profit  by 
them. 

Now  what  is  the  truth  as  to  these  two  proposals  ?  It 
is  not  enough  to  say  that  Shaw  is  right  for  industrial  effi- 
ciency and  St.  Francis  for  spiritual  efficiency,  since  the  ma- 
terial and  the  spiritual  cannot  be  arbitrarily  separated. 
Both  are  involved  in  the  question  as  to  whether  poverty  — 
or  at  least  the  will  to  live  poorly  —  is  good  or  bad  for  the 
morals  of  man.  The  answer  depends,  does  it  not,  to  some 
degree  at  least  upon  the  individual.  The  truth  of  either 
proposition  depends  in  some  measure  upon  who  says  it, 
and  for  whom  it  is  said.  Poverty  would  probably  not  be 
very  good  for  Bernard  Shaw.  Riches  would  certainly  not 
have  been  good  for  St.  Francis.  He  spoke  sincerely,  he 
spoke  truly  when  he  said  that  for  many  men  poverty  was 
best.  So  was  Bernard  Shaw  sincere.  He  saw  that  for 
men  who  held  his  idea  of  life  and  its  value  in  this  world,  and 
for  many  men  with  no  ideas  on  the  subject  whatsoever, 


THOUGHT  33 

poverty  was  bad.  The  truth  in  either  case  is  more  than 
truth  to  facts ;  it  is  truth  to  the  character,  to  the  experience, 
to  the  feelings  of  the  speaker.  Each  of  the  two  conflicting 
statements  that  we  have  been  discussing  was  emotionally 
true. 

Many  hypotheses  of  course,  especially  those  in  the  fields 
of  science,  can  be  absolutely  validated  or  exploded  simply 
by  seeking  the  facts ;  but  the  instance  above  is  typical  of 
many  more  where  the  personal  feelings,  the  character,  the 
innate  tendencies  of  the  writer  or  reader  count  at  least  as 
much  as  the  facts,  which,  incidentally,  in  such  examples 
are  never  complete  enough  in  themselves  to  justify  a  de- 
cision. Who  was  wrong  as  to  the  theory  of  states'  rights 
and  the  idea  of  government  by  an  aristocracy,  the  Virginian 
of  i860  or  the  New  Englander  of  the  same  period  ?  The 
New  Englander  thought  that  the  democracy  should  rule 
and  the  state  be  subordinated  to  the  nation.  The  Vir- 
ginian believed  in  control  by  the  "quality"  and  a  sovereign 
state  empowered  to  satisfy  its  own  needs  rather  than  those 
of  the  central  government.  Legally  the  Southerner  seems 
to  have  had  the  right  of  the  matter;  judging  by  his  earlier 
history  he  may  have  been  right,  for  although  we  know  the 
results  of  the  Civil  War,  we  do  not  know  what  might  have 
happened  if  the  South  had  got  its  way  without  a  conflict; 
emotionally  he  was  certainly  right.  The  theory  of  govern- 
ment he  supported  was  the  true  one  for  him;  so  true  that 
when  it  was  defeated,  he  and  his  type  of  mind  began  to  dis- 
appear along  with  the  theories  of  living  which  they  upheld. 

All  this  explains  why  emotional  appeal  is  so  much  more 
powerful  than  pure  reason  in  writing  or  speaking.  The 
man  who  wishes  to  persuade  must  show  his  readers  not  only 
what  may  be  true  in  the  abstract,  he  must  also  show  what 
is  true  for  them.  As  an  example,  race  prejudice  is  a  univer- 
sal human  heritage  that  is  seldom  altogether  reasonable.     We 


34  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

cannot  feel  in  the  same  way  toward  a  Japanese  as  toward 
an  American,  not  because  we  despise  him  —  we  know  him 
now  too  well  to  do  that  —  but  because  he  is  not  of  our  race. 
Now  if  you  disregard  this  feeling  in  an  argument  for  closer 
relations  with  Japan  you  are  simply  not  being  true,  —  no 
matter  how  far  the  abstract  truth  that  men  work  best  in 
brotherly  understanding  may  support  you,  no  matter  how 
reasonable  it  may  seem  that  racial  feelings  should  be  sup- 
pressed. As  a  man  thinks  so  he  is,  might  be  more  truly 
written,  as  a  man  feels  so  he  is. 

Of  course  all  this  is  not  advocacy  of  prejudice.  Prejudice 
is  simply  feeling  that  runs  dangerously  counter  to  reason, 
although  at  times  it  may  come  very  close  to  emotional  truth. 
Prejudices  should  be  fought  against,  argued  with,  suppressed 
when  possible.  In  the  search  for  truth  they  must  be  com- 
prehended and  allowed  for;  but  they  cannot  be  denied. 
They  are  excessive  indications  of  the  particular  feeling 
toward  life  that  in  the  long  run  determines  our  course  in 
every  action  as  much  as,  if  not  more  than,  reason  and  the 
plain  facts. 

And  therefore,  if  the  thought  to  be  developed  is  personal, 
or  if  it  involves  emotions  such  as  love,  hate,  or  prejudice, 
or  if  it  touches  upon  character  or  morals,  reason  of  course 
must  not  be  neglected,  nor  whatever  facts  may  be  found  to 
bear  upon  the  subject.  Both  must  be  pushed  as  far  as  they 
will  go,  and,  if  possible,  the  seeker  must  abide  by  the  results. 
But  it  is  not  safe  to  stop  here.  The  idea  will  seldom  be 
completed,  the  hypothesis  will  seldom  be  fully  tested,  until 
one  has  determined  whether  or  not  it  is  absolutely  true 
for  the  writer  himself,  or  for  his  audience  —  whether  it  is 
emotionally  true.  In  that  wide  field  where  are  to  be  found, 
among  many  other  subjects,  war,  philosophy,  politics,  honor, 
morality,  love,  and  religion,  the  human,  the  emotional 
element  cannot  be  left  out.     There  one  finds  no  absolutely 


THOUGHT  3  5 

verifiable  truth.  '  Sincerity  to  what  the  writer  feels,  to  what 
he  thinks  his  readers  can  be  made  to  feel,  is  the  nearest 
approach  to  a  final  test. 

If  a  college  professor  wishes  to  explain  the  charm  and 
the  value  of  the  academic  life,  he  cannot  be  content  to  reason 
about  its  usefulness,  or  to  present  facts  to  prove  that  the 
study  has  influenced  the  world  as  much  as  the  business 
office  and  the  senate  chamber.  He  must  go  deeper.  He 
must  make  his  readers  feel  the  infinite  value  of  such  a  life 
for  characters  like  his ;  he  must  get  his  love  of  thinking, 
his  belief  in  thinking,  into  his  words,  or  those  for  whom  he 
writes  will  remain  unconvinced.  Furthermore,  since  he 
is  presumably  not  writing  for  other  professors,  he  must 
remember  that  his  readers  will  be  more  familiar  with  the 
active  life  than  the  contemplative,  and  that  they  will  not 
feel  as  he  does  about  an  activity  purely  intellectual.  He 
must  allow  for  the  difference  between  their  emotional  atti- 
tude and  his,  as  well  as  the  difference  between  what  they 
know  and  what  he  knows  of  the  academic  life,  if  he  is  to 
give  his  words  due  weight.  He  must  reason  truly,  give 
true  facts,  but  most  of  all  recognize  a  divergence  of  feeling 
that  facts  and  reason  alone  will  never  reconcile.  Emotional 
truth,  to  sum  it  all  up,  is  gained  by  a  sincere  depiction  of  the 
emotions  that  lie  behind  and  beneath  thought. 

II 

When  it  comes  to  testing  a  thought  much  depends,  as  has 
been  demonstrated  above,  upon  the  nature  of  the  thought. 
But  when  it  comes  to  developing  a  thought,  to  putting  the 
results  of  the  testing  clearly  and  simply  and  directly  before 
the  reader,  there  is  only  one  general  procedure,  though 
with  many  different  applications.  It  is  true  that  an  idea 
can  be  brought  home  indirectly  to  the  reader  by  making 
a  story  or  a  play  about  it.     That  method  will  be  discussed 


36  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

in  the  next  chapter.  But  for  direct  explanation  or  persua- 
sion the  writer  must  follow  the  natural  laws  of  the  human 
mind  —  called  logic  —  or  fail  in  his  attempt. 

These  laws  apply  as  much  to  the  setting  forth  of  facts 
as  to  the  development  of  thought.  They  codify,  when  all 
is  said,  merely  the  best  ways  of  putting  one  man  in  complete 
possession  of  what  another  man  is  thinking.  And  which  of 
these  ways  is  to  be  used  in  a  given  instance  depends  always 
and  entirely  upon  the  nature  of  the  thought,  or  the  kind  of 
facts  that  have  been  collected.  No  one  relies  upon  the 
same  stroke  in  tennis  to  return  every  serve ;  he  must  know 
all  strokes,  and  choose  according  to  circumstances.  Just 
so  with  the  logical  development  of  thought,  or  the  logical 
presentation  of  facts. 

The  best  way  to  make  clear  this  highly  practical  subject, 
which  lies  at  the  heart  of  construction  in  writing,  is  to  take 
a  topic  and  work  it  out.  Let  the  subject  be  an  idea  for  a 
brief  essay:  "A  college  course  should  first  of  all  develop 
broadmindedness." 

Such  a  topic  as  this  one  is  a  germ  cell.  It  is  capable  of 
development  by  the  proper  means,  but  its  true  nature  will 
remain  unknown  until  careful  thought  has  been  expended 
upon  it.  Of  precisely  what  developed  thought  is  this  idea 
the  germ  ? 

The  biologist  applies  his  microscope.  The  writer  applies 
his  brain.  The  biologist  differentiates  the  germ  cell  — 
when  possible  —  from  other  germ  cells  by  characteristics  of 
structure,  size,  and  general  appearance;  and  then  and  only 
then  can  guess  the  conditions  that  will  govern  its  develop- 
ment. The  writer  gets  acquainted  with  his  idea  by  studying 
it,  by  asking  himself  in  this  case  precisely  what  is  meant  by 
broadmindedness. 

Now  there  is  only  one  way  to  discover  what  is  meant  by 
a  word,  a  term,  or  a  statement,  and  that  is  to  define  it.     Logi- 


THOUGHT  37 

cal  definition  is  a  simple  process.  The  subject,  a  dog  for 
instance,  is  placed  in  its  class,  its  genus,  in  this  instance  the 
genus  quadruped ;  and  then  its  differentia,  that  is,  its  dif- 
ferences from  other  members  of  that  class,  indicated.  By 
this  process  it  is  easy  to  define  the  term  dog  with  scientific 
exactness.  And  definition  can  perform  the  same  service 
for  less  concrete  terms,  with  not  so  much  precision,  but 
greater  profit. 

What  does  one  mean,  for  example,  by  broadmindedness  ? 
Clearly  some  form  of  "improvement  of  the  mind"  —  and 
that  is  the  genus  to  which  the  term  belongs.  But  what 
does  one  mean  by  broadmindedness  ?  How  does  it  differ 
from  deepmindedness,  from  keenmindedness,  from  dis- 
ciplining, from  informing  the  mind  ?  What  are  its  dif- 
ferentia ?  A  dozen  questions  must  be  answered  before  one 
can  define  the  term ;  and  until  they  are  answered  the  pro- 
posed essay  will  not  be  worth  the  time  it  takes  to  write  it. 
Does  breadth  of  thinking  consist  of  knowing  a  little  of  every- 
thing, or  a  few  fundamental  things  well  ?  Or  perhaps  it  is  no 
matter  of  knowledge  at  all,  but  rather  the  way  one  thinks  ? 
Is  broadmindedness  a  quality  that  belongs  to  character 
quite  as  much  as  to  intellect  ?  Or  does  it  come  from  the 
reaction  of  tolerant,  intelligent  thinking  upon  character? 
So  much  is  merely  a  beginning  toward  a  definition  of  breadth 
of  mind.  And  now,  what  is  meant  by  a  "college  course"  ? 
Any  higher  educational  process,  such  as  that  of  a  technical 
or  professional  school  ?  Or  a  strictly  undergraduate  train- 
ing in  what  are  called  the  liberal  arts  ?  All  these  questions 
must  be  satisfied  and  the  subject  exactly  defined  before  one 
is  ready  to  go  ahead  with  the  development  of  the  thought. 
Otherwise,  one  gets  not  real  development,  but  muddle  — 
and  we  do  get  muddle  in  a  disgracefully  large  proportion 
of  the  so-called  thought  developments  inflicted  upon  a 
patient  but  none   too  clear-headed   public.     Definition,   in 

RO8  0 


38  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

the  sense  used  above,  is  a  very  necessary  part  of  prepared- 
ness in  writing. 

This  is  one  step.  Another  immediately  suggests  itself. 
By  what  end  are  you  to  grasp  this  ticklish  subject  of  broad- 
mindedness,  once  you  know  just  what  it  means  ?  Where 
does  one  begin  to  write,  when,  after  due  consideration, 
one  discovers  exactly  what  it  is  that  he  proposes  to  write 
about  ?  If  every  subject  were  as  simple  and  indivisible 
as  the  familiar  proposition  in  logic,  "All  men  are  mortal," 
there  would  be  no  more  to  do  than  to  define  mortal  and  let 
it  go  at  that.  But  even  the  simplest  subject  is  ordinarily 
divisible.  The  child  who  writes  on  "My  Dog"  begins  with 
dog  morality,  he  is  a  good  dog;  continues  with  dog  nomen- 
clature, his  name  is  Bounce ;  and  concludes  with  dog  phy- 
sique, he  is  small  and  curly.  The  man  is  but  a  complex 
child,  and  a  man's  thought  is  but  a  complex  child's  thought. 
For  easy  reading  both  must  be  divided. 

The  difficulty  in  division  comes  simply  because  the  thought 
is  complex.  One  laughs  at  the  child's  naive  essay  on  the 
dog  and  then  proceeds  to  commit  one  or  both  of  the  two 
cardinal  sins  of  division,  overlapping  or  incompleteness. 
For  example,  here  is  a  discussion  of  the  minimum  wage 
law  under  the  quadruple  heading:  "Effect  on  the  laborer; 
effect  on  the  employer ;  effect  upon  capital  invested ;  effect 
upon  the  community."  The  writer  never  noted  that  his 
fourth  item  overlaps  all  the  others,  and  as  a  result  his  essay 
is  repetitive  and  confusing.  And  here  is  another  upon  scien- 
tific management,  which  is  developed  under  the  headings : 
"Increase  in  output;  effect  upon  wages;  effect  upon  profits." 
This  writer  did  not  observe  that  the  possible  effect  of  the 
"speeding  up"  of  scientific  management  upon  the  human 
material  employed  has  not  been  touched  upon  at  all.  He 
traveled  through-  three  arcs  of  the  circle  of  his  subject, 
but  never   entered    upon    the   fourth.     His    topic  was  not 


THOUGHT  39 

thoroughly  developed  because  his  division  was  incom- 
plete. 

The  method  by  which  one  divides  any  subject  in  advance 
into  natural  parts  is  so  simple  and  so  efficacious,  that  one 
wonders  that  it  is  so  seldom  done  consciously.  Most 
writers  do  it  unconsciously  —  by  instinct  seemingly  —  when- 
ever they  write.  But  so  long  as  the  process  remains  in- 
stinctive, unreasoned,  uncontrolled,  it  may  fail  to  work 
when  most  needed,  or  may,  as  above,  work  imperfectly. 
Think  of  the  thought  to  be  developed,  or  the  group  of 
thoughts  to  be  explained,  as  a  circle  inclosing  the  subject 
matter.  Divide  the  circle-subject  into  arcs,  following  the 
natural  lines  of  cleavage.  See  that  the  divisions  do  not 
overlap.  See  that  all  the  circle  is  divided.  Then  lift  out 
the  division  that  can  best  be  handled  first  and  begin.  This 
advice  is  thoroughly  conventional.  One  can  find  such 
directions  in  any  book  on  logic.  Indeed,  they  are  so  obvi- 
ous that  most  writers  do  not  heed  them  —  and  as  a  result 
pay  a  price  in  time  and  effectiveness. 

Equally  obvious  but  far  less  neglected  is  the  next  step 
in  logical  presentation.  Specification,  as  it  is  commonly 
called,  is  really  a  rough  kind  of  definition,  which  enlarges 
the  meaning  of  the  topic.  When  a  subject  has  been  stated, 
it  is  usually  necessary  to  present  the  details,  to  elaborate 
it,  to  specify  the  circumstances  that  it  involves.  If  it  is 
a  group  of  facts  that  is  to  be  handled,  one  must  describe 
them,  turn  them  over,  give  the  details,  the  specifications, 
until  all  that  is  implied  by  the  subject  is  made  plain.  I 
am  writing,  for  example,  of  the  benefits  of  compulsory 
service  in  a  democracy  like  the  United  States.  After  I 
have  defined  what  I  mean  by  compulsory  service ;  after  I 
have  divided  the  subject  into,  let  us  say,  objections  and 
benefits ;  why  then  I  must  specify  the  precise  nature  of 
each  objection  and  each  benefit ;   I  must  elaborate ;   I  must 


40  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

give  the  details.  This  is  specification,  a  somewhat  loose 
process,  but  so  natural  that  it  needs  no  further  discussion. 

It  is  not  easy  to  develop  a  thought  without  division,  defini- 
tion, and  specification,  but  the  fourth  method  of  presenta- 
tion is  not  so  generally  applicable.  Comparison  and  con- 
trast require  on  the  part  of  the  writer  some  imagination ; 
they  are  adapted,  furthermore,  only  to  subjects  where  com- 
parison and  contrast  are  really  valuable.  And  comparison 
particularly  is  tricky,  for  there  are  more  false  analogies  in 
the  world  than  true  ones.  Nevertheless,  the  writer  who 
can  reach  the  mind  of  another  by  an  apt  comparison  makes 
quick  strides  toward  his  goal.  If  the  undergraduate  can 
be  made  to  see  that  when  he  measures  service  to  his  college 
entirely  in  terms  of  athletic  prowess  he  is  like  the  statesman 
who  measures  service  to  the  state  entirely  in  terms  of  ora- 
tory, conviction  of  a  possible  narrowness  is  much  more 
likely  to  be  brought  home  to  him.  Likewise,  if  I  can  set 
the  initiative  of  the  American  pioneer,  his  inventiveness, 
his  adaptability,  in  contrast  to  the  inflexible  mind,  the 
timid  spirit,  the  helplessness  in  crisis  of  the  peasant  in  a 
despotic  Oriental  state,  I  have  done  much  to  explain  the 
blessings  of  residence  in  a  land  still  rich  in  new  careers. 

Unfortunately,  if  the  comparison  is  not  accurate  or  the 
contrast  unjust,  this  method  of  thought  development  is 
perhaps  the  worst.  The  war,  for  example,  has  spawned 
a  multitude  of  false  analogies  that  fill  the  daily  press.  It 
was  effective  to  compare  the  defenseless  United  States  to 
defenseless  Belgium  ;  but  the  comparison  left  out  of  account 
a  difference  in  geographical  location  so  great  as  to  destroy 
the  analogy.  In  1914,  every  move  of  the  belligerent  armies 
was  explained  by  comparison  with  the  war  of  1 870-1  ;  but 
by  1915  that  analogy  was  seen  to  be  false.  The  Franco- 
Prussian  war  disappeared  from  military  comment  except 
as  in  contrast  to  current  battles.     An  extraordinary  amount 


THOUGHT  41 

of  bad  arguing  comes  from  thinking  that  Tweedledum  is 
just  the  same  as  Tweedledee.  But  an  accurate  use  of 
parallels  in  explanation  or  persuasion  makes  strong,  effective 
writing. 

Only  one  possible  form  of  subject  development  remains, 
the  use  of  reasoning.  Reasoning  is  not  quite  the  same  as 
argument,  although  the  two  are  usually  confused.  Any 
form  of  statement  used  to  persuade  becomes  argument  — 
whether  a  mere  assertion  of  facts,  or  an  analogy,  or  reasoning 
itself.  Argument  uses  whatever  weapon  lies  handiest,  and 
—  to  revert  to  the  conventional  terms  of  rhetoric  —  at 
least  half  of  all  argument  is  pure  exposition. 

Reasoning  is  the  use  of  facts  and  thought  in  combination 
in  order  to  reach  a  definite  conclusion.  If  the  methods 
employed  are  analyzed,  it  quickly  becomes  apparent  that 
they  fall  invariably  and  necessarily  under  two  heads.  The 
thinker  finds  some  general  principle  that  he  knows  to  be 
true,  and  fits  into  it  the  facts  of  his  particular  case.  This 
is  deduction.  Or  he  begins  with  the  facts ;  that  is,  having 
a  definite  effect  he  may  seek  for  a  possible  cause,  or  vice  versa  ; 
or  having  a  sufficient  number  of  observed  facts,  he  may 
attempt  to  base  upon  them  a  general  conclusion  that  will 
seem  to  be  generally  true.  This  —  whether  cause  and  effect 
reasoning,  or  generalization  —  is  induction.  He  may  use 
either  deduction,  or  induction,  or  both ;  but  in  a  vast 
majority  of  cases  writers  and  speakers  use  both  in  such  close 
cooperation  that  only  thought  analysis  can  disentangle 
them.  This  is  as  it  should  be,  for  the  purpose  of  reasoning 
is  not  to  display  rhetorical  forms,  but  to  use  them  so  as  to 
get  a  result.  Indeed,  it  is  far  more  important  to  decide 
whether  this  final  conclusion  is  just  than  to  separate  the 
methods  of  development,  although  by  analyzing  arguments 
it  is  often  possible  to  detect  fallacies  and  to  discover  when  an 
assertion  is  not  supported  by  the  facts. 


42  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

In  thought  development  reasoning  is  often  a  last  and 
necessary  resort.  For  instance,  even  though  in  the  essay 
proposed  above  I  may  have  defined  compulsory  service 
to  the  state,  and  may  have  listed  the  objections  against  it 
and  the  possible  benefits,  the  nature  of  the  question  is  still 
at  best  made  clear  and  the  answer  is  still  doubtful.  Re- 
mains the  final  effort  of  pure  reason.  Is  it  true  as  a  general 
principle  that  democracy  and  universal  service  are  compatible 
and  mutually  helpful  ?  If  so,  it  is  easy  to  bring  the  special 
case  of  the  United  States  under  this  law,  and  so  take  a  step 
forward  in  the  argument.  This  would  be  deduction.  And 
again,  can  the  reasoner  present  desired  effects  upon  our 
social  life  of  which  compulsory  service  would  be  the  only 
cause  ?  And  does  the  available  evidence  as  to  what  Ameri- 
cans have  accomplished  under  discipline,  and  in  public 
affairs,  permit  him  to  generalize,  to  say  that  compulsory 
service  in  the  United  States  would  work  ?  These  two  argu- 
ments —  both  the  cause  and  effect  and  the  generalization  — 
would  be  induction,  and  further  steps  toward  the  conclusion 
he  seeks.  In  practice  he  would  not  argue  so  simply.  He 
would  probably  combine  his  methods,  getting  a  general 
principle  by  induction  and  then  using  it  to  deduce.  He 
would  think,  and  rightly,  much  more  of  the  proof  desired 
than  of  the  particular  form  of  reasoning  employed.  But  rea- 
son he  would  certainly  have  to  use ;  and  this  is  the  fifth 
means  of  securing  a  complete  and  satisfactory  development 
of  thought.1 

These  five  means  of  thought  development  sound  fatally 
like  a  set  of  rules  guaranteed  to  fit  any  subject  and  produce 
a  perfect  writer  after  fifteen  minutes  of  memorizing.  Noth- 
ing, unfortunately,  could  be  further  from  the  truth.     To 

1  For  a  more  detailed  discussion  of  the  special  problems  of  reasoning  and 
argument  see  "English  Composition  in  Theory  and  Practice,"  The  Mac- 
millan  Co.,  Chapters  VIII  and  IX. 


THOUGHT  43 

understand  them  helps ;  to  know  that  in  any  thought  de- 
velopment, as  in  any  presentation  of  facts,  one  or  two  or 
all  of  them  must  be  used  and  that  there  are  no  others  avail- 
able for  direct  presentation,  also  helps.  But  each  in  itself 
is  really  valuable  only  so  far  as  the  writer's  thinking  is  clear 
and  accurate,  his  grip  upon  fundamental  facts  sound  and 
true. 

And  again  the  real  problem  is  not  how  to  develop  thought, 
but  how  to  develop  a  thought.  Some  ideas  need  denning; 
others  do  not.  Sometimes  the  most  intricate  processes  of 
reasoning  are  necessary;  again  a  straightforward  specifica- 
tion of  what  is  known  about  the  subject  is  sufficient;  or 
a  cogent  analogy  will  serve  to  do  the  work.  The  brilliant 
idea  that  since  war  has  its  virtues  as  well  as  its  defects, 
there  may  be  found  somewhere  in  the  social  realm  a  moral 
equivalent  of  warfare,  was  struck  out  from  the  mind  of 
William  James  in  his  "Varieties  of  Religious  Experience" 
some  years  before  the  essay  included  in  this  volume  was 
written.  "What  we  now  need  to  discover,"  he  wrote,  is 
"something  heroic  that  will  speak  to  men  as  universally  as 
war  does,  and  yet  will  be  as  compatible  with  their  spiritual 
selves  as  war  has  proved  itself  to  be  incompatible."  In 
the  chapter  on  the  value  of  saintliness  of  which  this  sentence 
is  part,  he  had  no  room  to  develop  the  thought.  Content- 
ing himself  with  a  brief  definition  of  the  moral  values  of 
war,  and  specifying  that  discipline  of  voluntary  poverty, 
which  many  a  saint  has  practised,  as  a  possible  substitute, 
he  passed  on.  But  the  idea  worked  in  his  mind,  sought  a 
development  entirely  apart  from  any  arguments  for  or  against 
saintly  poverty,  found  it,  and  was  expanded  by  new  processes 
of  reasoning  into  essay  form.  The  other  essays  appended 
to  these  chapters  will  also  illustrate  the  truth  that  every 
thought  has  its  own  best  development.  Practice  with  ex- 
panding ideas  will  quickly  confirm  it. 


44  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

Practice  in  writing  consists  in  getting  ready  to  write,  even 
more  than  in  covering  paper.  As  Hamlet  says  in  a  some- 
what more  important  connection,  the  readiness  is  all.  And 
the  best  form  of  readiness  for  composition  is  a  clearly  grasped, 
clearly  developed  thought,  whose  outlines  may  be  jotted 
down  in  the  form  of  a  plan.  The  first  draft  of  an  essay,  or 
an  article,  or  a  report  written  from  such  a  plan  should  be 
an  experiment  merely.  When  it  is  done,  the  incomplete- 
ness —  the  crookedness,  the  inadequacy  of  the  thought 
development,  if  such  defects  exist  —  is  rendered  manifest. 
Then  is  the  time  for  more  and  straighter  thinking,  for  replan- 
nig and  rewriting.  Recopying  merely  is  a  waste  of  time ; 
revision  —  a  word  that  means  reseeing,  and  thus  implies 
rethinking  —  frequently  turns  a  weak  page  into  a  strong 
one. 

Learning  rules  for  writing  is  a  disagreeable  task,  and 
sometimes  an  unprofitable  one.  But  the  attempt  to  turn 
a  thought  that  really  means  something  to  the  writer  into  a 
piece  of  writing  that  does  its  work,  that  touches  the  brain 
or  reaches  the  will  of  the  reader,  is  one  of  the  major  sports 
of  the  intellect.  To  speak  of  such  endeavor  as  learning  to 
write  is  much  too  narrow  a  statement.  Learning  to  think 
and  learning  to  know  are  heavily  involved,  as  these  chapters 
have  indicated ;  learning  to  utilize  the  imagination  is  also 
included,  as  will  be  made  clear  in  the  chapter  to  come. 


CHAPTER   III 

IMAGINATION  IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT 
I 

In  the  preceding  chapters  much  more  has  been  said  about 
matter  than  about  manner.  This  is  as  it  should  be.  Ac- 
curacy of  fact,  soundness  and  clearness  of  idea,  are  essen- 
tial to  any  writing  that  is  to  be  more  than  momentarily 
amusing;  the  graces  of  presentation  are  valuable  but  sub- 
sidiary aids.  Readers  of  our  oldest  and  most  respected 
periodicals  know  only  too  well  how  often  articles  make  their 
way  into  print  by  brute  force  of  the  valuable  material  they 
contain.  It  is  undeniable  that  a  new  and  true  idea  or  a 
fresh  and  significant  observation  of  fact  will  usually  win  a 
hearing,  let  the  presentation  of  it  be  ever  so  unattractive. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  art  of  the  jeu  <T esprit,  the  cleverness 
that  lends  charm  to  the  trifle,  is  not  to  be  learned  from 
books. 

Nevertheless,  the  ordinary  man  can  ill  afford  to  neglect 
anything  that  will  help  to  attract  a  possible  reader.  The 
compiler  of  an  engineer's  report  may  be  happily  certain 
that  his  work  will  be  inspected  by  some  superior  official ; 
the  student  who  composes  a  theme  may  be  unhappily  cer- 
tain that  even  his  dullest  production  will  receive  the  blue- 
pencilings  of  an  instructor ;  but  the  great  mass  of  writing 
must  make  its  own  way,  must  —  if  it  is  to  succeed  at  all  — 
gain  and  hold  the  attention  of  those  who  are  free  to  refuse 
it.     Such  writing  must  be  interesting  or  unread. 

45 


46  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

Interest  is  often,  of  course,  an  inherent  quality  of  the 
facts  or  ideas  to  be  handled.  An  essay  which  presented 
a  certain  means  for  assuring  permanent  international  peace 
could  scarcely  be  made  so  dull  that  it  would  be  wholly  un- 
noticed. An  article  announcing  the  discovery  of  a  cheap 
and  satisfactory  substitute  for  gasoline  would  be  eagerly 
read  even  though  it  lacked  every  recognizable  device  for 
awakening  interest.  A  keen  appetite  needs  no  sauce,  and 
for  a  few  things  the  public  appetite  is  keen.  But  not  every- 
one who  finds  himself  impelled  to  write  is  the  happy  possessor 
of  material  which  will  of  itself  make  this  immediate  and 
general  appeal.  The  attraction  of  most  ideas,  like  that  of 
most  women,  is  obscured  by  an  unattractive  or  ill-designed 
dress.  Not  even  Cleopatra  despised  the  aid  of  silks  and 
jewels,  and  for  even  the  best  thought  there  is  a  worse  and 
better  form. 

Now  and  then  there  appears  a  man  with  an  inborn  ability 
to  present  his  ideas  in  the  most  interesting  way  possible, 
one  who  could  give  to  the  multiplication  table  the  fascina- 
tion of  romance.  Others,  in  spite  of  all  their  pains,  would 
be  dull  even  if  they  were  allowed  to  report  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment. But  nearly  everyone  who  will  force  his  imagination 
into  the  service  of  his  thought  can  give  his  work  an  interest 
which  it  would  otherwise  lack ;  for,  more  than  upon  any- 
thing else,  interest  is  dependent  upon  imagination. 

The  word  imagination  may  properly  be  used  to  denote 
the  power  of  constructive  thought  which  has  been  discussed 
in  the  preceding  chapter.  It  may  also  mean,  as  here,  the 
power  that  the  mind  has  of  picturing  to  itself  the  unseen, 
of  translating  the  abstract  into  vivid,  concrete  terms.  A 
psychologist  might  easily  cavil  at  the  attempt  to  differentiate 
sharply  between  thought  and  imagination ;  but  a  man 
may  think  clearly  about  battles  without  once  imagining 
the  blood  and  filth  of  the  trenches,  the  stench  of  the  wounded, 


IMAGINATION   IN   THE   SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT         47 

the  continuous,  maddening  roar  of  artillery.  The  distinc- 
tion between  these  two  mental  processes  is  certainly  a 
serviceable  one,  and  when  a  man  makes  use  of  such  mental 
pictures  he  may  be  said  to  put  his  imagination  into  the 
service  of  his  thought. 

One  way  in  which  the  imagination  may  thus  be  used  ap- 
pears at  once  when  the  writer  considers  the  desirability  of 
conceiving  the  character  of  the  audience  which  he  is  to  ad- 
dress. A  speaker,  having  his  hearers  before  him,  can  easily 
adjust  himself  to  them.  He  can  discover  from  Mr.  Brown's 
puckered  brow  that  a  supposed  explanation  does  not  explain, 
or  from  Mr.  Smith's  ill-concealed  yawns  that  a  less  ample 
presentation  of  the  subject  would  be  more  acceptable.  The 
writer,  though  he  lacks  this  ocular  aid,  must  none  the  less 
adjust  his  manner  to  the  wishes  and  capabilities  of  those 
to  whom  he  would  appeal.  A  dramatic  criticism  admirably 
suited  to  the  pages  of  "The  North  American  Review" 
might  easily  bore  the  readers  of  "Vanity  Fair."  For  the 
one  audience  the  critic  might  well  stress  the  construction 
of  the  play ;  for  the  other  he  would  do  better  to  remark  on 
the  construction  of  the  players. 

Perhaps  the  chief  reason  why  the  majority  of  college 
themes  are  hopelessly  dull  is  that  their  authors  have  in 
mind  no  specific  type  of  reader.  By  addressing  everyone 
in  general  the  student  fails  to  interest  anyone  in  particular. 
At  one  moment  he  takes  for  granted  too  much  knowledge ; 
at  the  next,  too  little.  Here,  as  in  every  other  kind  of  writ- 
ing, it  is  necessary  to  adapt  both  matter  and  form  to  the 
needs  of  some  definite  sort  of  person,  some  definite  degree 
of  intelligence. 

But  to  do  this  successfully  the  imagination  must  be 
employed.  Only  by  summoning  before  the  inward  eye  the 
type  of  person  whom  he  hopes  to  reach  is  the  writer  able 
to  decide  wisely  what  he  had  best  say  and  how  he  had  best 


48  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

say  it.  The  man  who,  as  he  writes,  sees  a  pudgy  commercial 
traveler  in  a  stuffy  smoking  compartment  is  obviously 
more  likely  to  say  that  which  will  awaken  such  a  person's 
attention  than  he  who  merely  shoots  his  words  at  random. 
Many  a  man  who  has  prepared  an  article  without  conceiving 
the  effect  it  would  be  likely  to  have  upon  any  specific  in- 
dividual has  found  to  his  cost  that  he  has  painfully  squared 
a  peg  for  the  roundest  possible  hole. 

Moreover,  the  more  vividly  the  imaginary  audience  is 
seen,  the  more  personal  and  characteristic  will  be  the  utter- 
ance. With  total  strangers  people  are  commonly  stiff  and 
repressed ;  with  friends  they  reveal  their  actual  selves. 
No  one  is  willing  to  let  himself  go  so  long  as  he  fears  to  be 
misunderstood.  Similarly,  no  one  will  write  freely,  easily, 
and  —  in  consequence  —  interestingly,  unless  he  feels  that 
he  knows  those  by  whom  his  words  will  be  received.  Com- 
pare on  this  score  the  letter  that  a  lad  visiting  Paris  for  the 
first  time  writes  to  his  brother  with  the  letter  the  same  lad 
writes  when  forced  by  his  family  to  describe  his  experiences 
for  some  forlorn  female  cousin  with  whom  he  is  scarcely 
acquainted.  The  one  is  usually  fresh,  entertaining,  attrac- 
tive even  to  a  person  who  has  long  been  familiar  with  the 
scenes  described ;  the  other  is  likely  to  resemble  an  excep- 
tionally bad  guidebook.  The  reason  is  simply  that  the 
former  conveys  an  impression  not  only  of  the  city,  but  also 
of  the  writer  —  that  the  charm  of  the  one  is  inextricably 
mingled  with  the  charm  of  the  other  —  in  short,  that  the 
letter  written  to  the  intimate  friend  has  personality.  And 
in  all  work  that  is  not  wholly  scientific  or  technical  the  free 
expression  of  personality  counts  for  much.  If  Stevenson's 
essays  are  read  to-day  when  those  of  other  contributors  to 
"The  Cornhill  Magazine"  are  forgotten,  it  is  not  because 
Stevenson  was  so  much  wiser  than  they,  but  because  he 
knew  better  how  to  make  his  work  an  expression  of  himself. 


IMAGINATION  IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT         49 

The  most  interesting  essayist  is  usually,  moreover,  not 
only  one  who  expresses  himself  individually  to  a  concrete 
audience,  but  also  one  who  sees  his  subject  concretely. 
Just  as  our  interest  in  mankind  is  inevitably  less  vivid  than 
our  interest  in  Tom  or  Dick  or  Mary,  so  an  abstract  proposi- 
tion rarely  grips  us  as  does  a  concrete  instance.  A  man  who 
is  very  mildly  enthusiastic  about  the  maintenance  of  na- 
tional honor  will  forget  his  pacifism  and  clamor  for  a  gun 
if  an  injury  to  his  missionary  sister  is  unavenged  by  Wash- 
ington. The  best  theoretical  defense  of  a  protective  tariff 
has  won  a  single  vote  for  the  Republican  party  where  the 
alleged  relation  between  such  a  tariff  and  the  full  dinner 
pail  has  won  tens  of  thousands. 

The  skilful  writer  seizes  upon  this  psychological  fact  and 
uses  it  for  all  it  is  worth.  Take  for  instance  a  paragraph 
by  G.  K.  Chesterton  in  which  he  is  discussing  the  supposed 
"need  for  'scientific  conditions'  in  connection  with  alleged 
spiritual  phenomena."  Instead  of  putting  his  point  ab- 
stractly he  makes  it  as  follows  :  "The  fact  that  ghosts  prefer 
darkness  no  more  disproves  the  existence  of  ghosts  than  the 
fact  that  lovers  prefer  darkness  disproves  the  existence  of 
love.  If  you  choose  to  say,  'I  will  believe  that  Miss  Brown 
called  her  fiance  a  periwinkle  or  any  other  endearing  term, 
if  she  will  repeat  the  word  before  seventeen  psychologists,' 
then  I  shall  reply,  'Very  well,  if  those  are  your  conditions, 
you  will  never  get  the  truth,  for  she  certainly  will  not  say 
it.'  It  is  just  as  unscientific  as  it  is  unphilosophical  to  be 
surprised  that  in  an  unsympathetic  atmosphere  certain  ex- 
traordinary sympathies  do  not  arise."  A  Freshman,  writ- 
ing on  Thomas  Hardy's  point  of  view,  brightened  a  dull  and 
commonplace  theme  by  remarking  that  "  Hardy  is  the  kind 
of  man  who  believes  that  if  you  drop  a  piece  of  bread  and 
butter  it  will  always  fall  buttered  side  down." 

The  value  of  concrete  illustration  as  a  means  of  develop- 

E 


50  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

ing  an  idea  clearly  has  already  been  pointed  out  in  the 
preceding  chapter.  It  is  necessary  to  recur  to  it  again 
partly  because  it  is  one  of  the  most  effective  means  of  gain- 
ing interest,  and  partly  because  one's  success  in  hitting  upon 
or  devising  such  illustration  is  generally  directly  dependent 
upon  one's  success  in  putting  the  imagination  to  work. 

Of  course,  when  a  principle  or  a  theory  is  the  result  of 
a  direct  induction  from  facts  —  as,  for  example,  in  an  ac- 
count of  scientific  investigation  —  it  is  easy  enough  to  re- 
verse the  process  and  instance  the  facts  as  illustrations  of 
the  theory.  More  often,  however,  the  affair  is  not  thus 
simple.  A  writer  starts  with  a  theory  about  some  general 
topic,  such  as  the  unifying  force  of  war  upon  a  nation.  It 
is  only  as  he  makes  himself  see  the  effects  of  war  upon  definite 
sorts  of  people,  upon  the  reformer  and  the  office-seeker, 
upon  a  Mr.  Rockefeller  and  a  Mr.  Gompers ;  it  is  only  as  he 
brings  his  imagination  to  bear,  that  vivid,  specific  illustra- 
tions flash  into  his  mind. 

Even  more  is  this  the  case  when  the  illustrations  are 
drawn,  not  merely  from  the  field  under  discussion,  but  from 
other,  often  widely  different  fields.  It  is  not  by  chance  that 
the  poet  more  often  than  the  writer  of  prose  illustrates  his 
idea  by  comparison,  by  the  use  of  metaphors  and  similes.  It 
is  because  the  imagination  of  the  poet  is  more  often  actively 
at  work.  But  only  the  prose  writer  who  is  content  to  be 
uniformly  dull  can  afford  to  despise  the  aid  of  such  com- 
parisons. The  border  line  between  them  and  the  concrete 
instance  is  not  always  easy  to  draw ;  the  distinction  is  in 
any  case  immaterial.  The  only  important  question  is 
whether  the  illustration  is  or  is  not  of  real  service.  When 
Chesterton  characterizes  a  certain  type  of  man  by  saying 
that  he  was  born,  not  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,  but 
with  a  silver  knife  in  his  mouth,  he  not  only  produces  an 
effect  an  unimaginative  writer  could  not  produce,  but  he 


IMAGINATION  IN  THE   SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT         51 

produces  it  much  more  economically.  A  single  sentence  of 
this  sort  can  do  more  oftentimes  than  a  page  of  abstract 
discussion. 

A  good  figure,  then,  is  no  mere  adornment,  no  piece  of 
merely  feminine  finery.  But  a  figure  introduced  only  be- 
cause figures  are  supposed  to  "improve  the  style"  is  not  a 
good  figure.  If  we  are  weary  of  reading  about  ruby  lips 
and  pearly  teeth,  it  is  not  simply  because  these  are  hack- 
neyed metaphors ;  it  is  rather  because  they  are  the  counter- 
feits of  imagination  —  wretched  and  conventional  substi- 
tutes for  the  real  thing.  They  suggest  no  clear  and  fresh 
vision  of  a  beautiful  face ;  they  indicate  only  the  lazy  bor- 
rowing of  an  empty  phrase. 

Such  figures  as  these  are  scarcely  figures  at  all.  When 
one  reads  them  he  has  no  momentary  vision  of  the  cloudy 
pallor  of  pearls  nor  of  the  gorgeous  radiance  of  rubies. 
Thus  used,  ruby  and  pearly  are  merely  outworn  adjectives. 
But  a  single  adjective  may  display  as  much  imaginative 
power  as  an  elaborate  comparison.  When  the  domestic 
arrangements  of  an  English  household  are  described  as 
being  —  from  an  American  point  of  view  —  "sketchy," 
we  get  a  real  figure,  the  apt  suggestion  of  which  grows  upon 
reflection.  Imagination  can  suggest  the  vivid  word  as 
well  as  the  vivid  phrase.  By  its  aid  one  realizes  the  power 
latent  in  some  words  and  lacking  in  others.  Nine  times  out 
of  ten  good  diction  is  imaginative  diction. 

Even  in  connection  with  the  best  illustrations,  however, 
two  dangers  present  themselves.  The  first  is  that  by  their 
abundance  and  interest  they  may  distract  the  reader  from 
the  point  really  at  issue.  He  may  become  so  fascinated  by 
the  illustrations  as  to  forget  what  it  is  they  illustrate.  Any 
good  teacher  who  has  inspected  his  pupil's  notebooks  has 
more  than  once  found  recorded  there  only  these  sparks 
thrown  off  from  the  central  flame,  these  fringes  of  his  thought, 


52  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

with  no  trace  of  the  main  point  from  which  they  depended. 
More  than  one  essayist  has  been  considered  a  shallow  thinker 
only  because  the  blaze  of  his  fireworks  has  been  too  dazzling. 
It  is  always  possible  to  lose  the  forest  in  the  trees. 

This  danger  is  scarcely  one  to  terrify  the  average  writer. 
Few  imaginations  are  thus  active.  A  much  more  common 
tendency  is  that  which  uses  an  illustration  as  an  ineffective 
substitute  for  proof.1  A  comparison  is  seldom  so  perfect 
that  it  can  replace  logical  reasoning.  A  specific  instance 
almost  never  makes  an  impression  so  profound  as  to  beguile 
a  thoughtful  reader  into  forgetting  that  it  is  only  a  single 
instance,  and  that  a  sound  generalization  demands  more  than 
one  case  for  its  support.  Mathematical  demonstrations 
are  to  many  people  dull,  but  they  are  conclusive  to  a  degree 
that  nothing  else  is.  Most  sentences  devoted  to  gaining 
or  holding  interest  replace  others  that  might  be  devoted 
to  gaining  assent.  The  best  illustrations  serve  both  pur- 
poses, but  they  can  nevertheless  be  overworked.  The 
course  between  dullness  and  soundness  is  a  narrow  and  diffi- 
cult one,  but  the  successful  writer  must  and  does  keep  clear 
of  either  rock. 

II 

Such  uses  of  the  imagination  as  those  just  discussed  are 
everyday  affairs ;  they  appear  in  most  good  writing,  in  most 
good  talk.  Consciously  or  unconsciously  any  competent 
writer  adjusts  his  material  to  his  audience  and  presents 
it  with  reasonable  concreteness.  But  the  possible  service 
of  the  imagination  is  by  no  means  limited  to  such  matters 
of  detail.  In  other  ways,  more  frequently  available  than 
an  inexperienced  writer  suspects,  the  imagination  may  be 

1  Analogy  has  evidential  value,  as  has  been  shown  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter. To  overwork  analogy,  however,  is  not  to  make  imagination  serve 
thought,  but  to  let  it  replace  a  more  forceful  means  to  the  desired  end. 


IMAGINATION  IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT         53 

used  to  arouse  and  compel  a  reader's  attention.  It  is  often 
of  the  greatest  value  when  it  determines  the  form  in  which 
ideas  or  facts  are  presented. 

Anyone  opening  a  magazine  or  weekly  periodical  is 
likely  to  find  himself  immediately  confronted  by  the  figure 
of  a  forceful-looking  man  who  points  his  finger  at  the  reader 
and  says:  "Now  listen!  I'm  Slippery  Jim,  and  I  know 
more  about  making  good  pipe  tobacco  than  anyone  else. 
I've  been  making  smooth-cut  for  forty  years,  and  I  can  prom- 
ise you"  —  and  so  on.  One  knows  that  this  is  an  advertise- 
ment, that  Slippery  Jim  is  a  wholly  mythical  person,  yet 
one  can  scarcely  avoid  reading  what  Jim  has  to  say,  whereas 
an  impersonal  exposition  of  the  merits  of  the  article  in  ques- 
tion, however  carefully  phrased,  would  be  passed  over  with 
scarcely  a  glance.  The  advertising  managers  who  devise 
such  traps  for  the  public  attention  know  very  well  what 
they  are  about.  They  know  that  the  average  human  being 
is  much  more  influenced  by  persons  than  by  ideas,  that  he 
is  much  more  easily  interested  in  the  opinions  of  John  Jones 
than  in  the  greatest  abstract  thought.  Hence  they  create 
an  imaginary  character  and  put  into  his  mouth  what  they 
have  to  say. 

Such  advertisements  are  new  applications  of  an  old  method 
of  the  essayist.  If,  in  the  days  of  Queen  Anne,  the  "Tatler" 
or  the  "Spectator"  was  to  be  found  on  every  breakfast 
table,  it  was  due  in  no  small  measure  to  the  fact  that  the 
editors  of  these  periodicals  created  such  figures  as  those  of 
Isaac  Bickerstaff  and  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  into  whose 
mouths  they  put  their  opinions.  By  means  of  such  imagi- 
nary personages  they  could  present  subjects  from  various 
points  of  view,  in  various  manners,  and  give  to  their  thought 
a  life  and  interest  hardly  attainable  otherwise. 

The  essayist,  of  course,  has  one  difficulty  not  felt  by  the 
advertiser.     The  latter  calls  in  the  aid  of  an  artist  to  give 


54  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

reality  to  the  fictitious  character.  The  essayist  must  do 
this  unaided.  He  has  not  only  to  maintain  the  consistency 
of  his  character,  to  put  into  his  mouth  only  such  words  and 
opinions  as  might  naturally  be  expected  there ;  he  has 
also  to  add  such  strokes  as  will  suggest  a  real  and  attractive 
personality.  Unlike  the  novelist,  the  essayist  cannot  de- 
pend upon  incident  or  action  for  revelation  of  character ; 
unlike  the  dramatist,  he  has  no  assistance  from  living  actors. 
Nor  can  he  safely  delay  his  points  too  long  by  pausing  to 
give  an  elaborate  character-sketch.  If  he  is  skilful  he  will 
gain  his  effect  by  a  few  suggestive  strokes  such  as  those  of 
Charles  Lamb's  essay  entitled  "Mrs.  Battle's  Opinions  on 
Whist":  "'A  clear  fire,  a  clean  hearth,  and  the  rigour  of 
the  game.'  This  was  the  celebrated  wish  of  old  Sarah 
Battle  (now  with  God)  who,  next  to  her  devotions,  loved 
a  good  game  at  whist."  In  a  sentence  or  two  this  old  lady, 
"who  was  none  of  your  lukewarm  gamesters  .  .  .  who 
affirm  that  they  have  no  pleasure  in  winning,"  is  made  a  real 
personality  about  whose  opinions  one  is  eager  to  know. 

Lamb  employed  an  extremely  effective  variant  on  this 
method  in  his  essay  "Dream  Children,"  where  he  speaks 
at  first  in  the  character  of  a  widowed  father  and  then  later 
reveals  himself  as  the  bachelor  who  is  writing  only  of  the 
might-have-been.  Thus  the  fictitious  character  may  be 
used  for  only  a  part  of  the  essay,  possibly  as  an  opponent 
or  defender  of  the  ideas  to  be  conveyed. 

From  the  single  figure  to  the  group,  from  the  monologue 
to  the  dialogue  or  conversation,  is  an  easy  step.  When 
Mr.  Lowes  Dickinson  wished  to  discuss  various  points  of 
view  toward  English  social  and  political  conditions,  he  cast 
his  essay  in  the  form  of  a  series  of  speeches  made  by  men  of 
strongly  contrasted  types,  and  by  naming  the  result  "A 
Modern  Symposium"  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  using  a  device  as  old  as  the  Socratic  dialogues  recorded 


IMAGINATION  IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT         55 

or  imagined  by  Plato.  As  we  read  in  Mr.  Dickinson's 
pages  that  when  the  preceding  speaker  had  concluded,  "Mac- 
Carthy,  without  waiting  my  summons,  had  leapt  to  his 
feet  and  burst  into  an  impassioned  harangue  ...  his 
Irish  accent  contrasting  pleasantly  with  that  of  the  last 
speaker,"  we  are  already  much  more  eager  to  know  what 
this  anarchist  has  to  say  against  the  socialist  point  of  view 
than  we  could  possibly  have  been  had  the  two  positions 
been  presented  directly  and  impersonally  by  the  author 
himself. 

The  fact  that  the  use  of  the  monologue  and  dialogue  as 
means  of  conveying  thought  has  been  illustrated  by  the 
work  of  distinguished  essayists  in  no  way  implies  that 
such  devices  are  valuable  only  to  those  who  have  literary 
ambitions.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  many  a  reasonably  truthful 
person  when  compelled  to  give  a  disagreeable  bit  of  advice 
has  coated  the  pill  by  beginning,  "Well,  a  chap  I  once  knew 
got  himself  into  a  peck  of  trouble  that  way.  He  thought  — " 
and  so  on.  The  fact  that  such  an  unfortunate  never  existed 
does  not  in  the  least  reduce  his  value  as  a  means  of  adminis- 
tering opinions  otherwise  unpalatable.  From  an  ethical 
point  of  view  one  may  possibly  object  to  such  a  practice, 
but  its  utility  is  attested  by  its  common  use.  In  writing, 
moreover,  the  question  of  actual  deception  rarely  arises. 
Criticisms,  suggestions,  opinions  —  whether  they  have  to 
do  with  local  conditions  and  activities  or  any  of  a  thousand 
subjects  —  may  often  be  put  with  advantage  into  some  one 
of  these  personal  forms.  Which  one  is  best  applicable  to 
the  individual  case  is  a  question  easily  determined  ;  the  possi- 
bility of  using  some  such  form  is  always  worth  considering. 

So  long  as  a  writer  merely  enlivens  what  he  has  to  say  and 
intensifies  its  interest  by  putting  his  thought  into  the  mouths 
of  personalities  not  his  own  he  remains  an  essayist,  primarily 
concerned  with  the  clear  and  forceful  exposition  of  his  ideas ; 


56  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

the  depiction  of  character  remains  a  subordinate  detail. 
But  when  he  goes  one  step  further  and  attempts  to  make 
use  of  characters  in  action,  he  gets  into  the  field  of  the 
story  or  the  play  and  is  confronted  with  quite  different  condi- 
tions. 

Ill 

The  attempt  to  convey  a  thought  by  means  of  some  form 
of  narrative  is  one  of  the  commonest  efforts  at  expression. 
The  giver  of  disagreeable  advice  referred  to  a  few  paragraphs 
back  is  even  more  likely  to  tell  a  story  about  his  imaginary 
instance  than  simply  to  report  his  opinions.  Not  only 
the  teacher  and  the  preacher,  but  also  the  man  talking  to 
you  across  the  table  is  likely  at  any  moment  to  say,  "Now 
I  can  tell  you  a  story  that  will  show  you  what  I  mean." 

In  a  sense  any  story  that  does  more  than  merely  thrill 
or  amuse  the  reader  has  back  of  it  a  similar  purpose,  the 
effort  to  convey  effectively  some  kind  of  idea.  Any  writer 
of  fiction  who  takes  his  work  at  all  seriously  is  attempting 
to  record  his  impression  of  life,  the  way  in  which  he  believes 
men  or  women  react  to  one  impulse  or  another.  The  author 
may  not  consciously  have  formulated  any  conclusions  from 
the  incident  he  relates  ;  he  may  not  wish  to ;  he  might  even 
be  unable  to  do  so  if  he  tried  ;  but  the  very  fact  that  he  has 
written  as  he  has  implies  that  he  would  answer,  Yes,  to  the 
perennial  questions,  Is  this  true  to  life  ?  Do  people  really 
act  in  this  way?  Although  Kipling,  in  his  story  "Without 
Benefit  of  Clergy,"  did  not  intend  to  propose  or  prove  any 
thesis  about  the  relations  of  Englishmen  in  the  Civil  Service 
with  Indian  women,  although  it  would  probably  be  unfair 
to  say  that  the  story  illustrates  any  definite  theory  about 
such  relations,  nevertheless  Kipling  believed  that  he  had 
something  to  tell  about  such  conditions  or  he  would  never 
have  written  the  story. 


IMAGINATION  IN  THE    SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT         57 

It  is  a  natural  corollary  that  the  writer  of  any  story  which 
pretends  to  tell  the  truth  about  life  needs  to  test  the  accuracy 
of  his  observations  and  conclusions  just  as  much  as  does  the 
author  of  any  essay  or  report ;  and  similarly  the  reader 
owes  the  writer  such  careful  attention  as  is  necessary  to  dis- 
cover exactly  what  impression  the  story  is  intended  to  con- 
vey. To  ask  whether  the  author  has  really  conveyed  any 
true  and  fresh  impression  at  all  is  a  test  which  will  speedily 
disclose  the  triviality  and  often  the  worthlessness  of  a  vast 
multitude  of  the  stories  printed  in  the  cheap  popular  maga- 
zines and  in  some  of  the  more  pretentious  ones  as  well.  It  is 
by  no  means  the  only  touchstone  of  judgment,  but  it  will 
usually  serve  to  show  whether  or  not  a  story  is  anything 
more  than  a  means  of  whiling  away  an  otherwise  emptier 
hour. 

It  is,  however,  with  a  much  more  limited  and  commonly 
inferior  variety  of  story  that  we  are  specially  concerned 
here,  with  the  story  that  is  the  embodiment  of  a  defi- 
nite idea,  with  what  is  often  called  the  thesis-story.  This 
idea  may  be  of  a  very  simple  sort  —  an  idea,  for  instance, 
about  some  historical  person  —  or  it  may  be  of  a  very  wide 
scope,  a  theory  about  the  marriage  relation  or  about  religion 
or  about  the  treatment  of  labor  by  capital.  Stevenson's 
story  "A  Lodging  for  the  Night"  is  an  example  of  the  first 
sort.  Some  time  before  he  wrote  it  Stevenson  had  pub- 
lished an  essay  about  Francois  Villon  the  title  of  which 
described  this  great  rogue  and  great  author  as  "Poet, 
Student,  and  Housebreaker."  A  comparison  of  the  story 
with  the  essay  shows  that  in  the  former  Stevenson  embodied 
in  concrete  incidents  exactly  the  conception  of  the  poet's 
character  that  he  had  set  forth  in  the  latter.  In  writing 
the  story  he  drew  upon  his  imagination  for  such  situations 
as  would  make  the  reader  feel  the  traits  which  he  had  at- 
tributed to  Villon  in  the  essay.     Consequently  the  reader 


58  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

may  properly  ask  about  it  as  well  as  about  the  essay  whether 
the  author's  representation  of  Villon  is  historically  correct. 
In  this  particular  instance,  however,  the  story  is  so  vivid 
and  true  to  the  type  of  life  depicted  that  it  has  a  value  quite 
independent  of  its  truth  to  fact  in  the  specific  case. 

Where  a  story  embodies  a  general  thesis,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  author  cannot  escape  so  easily.  The  primary 
reason  for  the  general  contempt  in  which  "Sunday-school 
books"  are  held  is  that  the  theories  of  life  which  they  con- 
vey are  not  true.  Very  few  people  are  able  to  take  seriously 
the  belief  that  little  boys  who  tie  tin  cans  to  the  tails  of  unfor- 
tunate dogs,  or  who  smoke  surreptitious  cigarettes  behind 
the  barn,  inevitably  end  in  prison  or  some  other  undesirable 
place.  Nor  can  the  model  infant  who  is  always  neat  and 
clean  and  who  never  plays  truant  always  be  certain  that  he 
will  ultimately  be  the  heir  of  a  rich  uncle  who  will  be  kind 
enough  to  die  at  the  most  convenient  moment.  No  graces 
of  style,  no  mastery  of  construction  could  save  such  stories ; 
for  the  ideas  which  they  embody  are  silly  and  false.  The 
man  who  starts  out  to  embody  an  idea  in  a  story  must  first 
catch  an  idea  that  is  worth  embodying. 

This  statement  is  one  with  which  everybody  will  agree 
theoretically;  indeed  —  like  several  other  points  to  be  made 
in  this  section  —  it  is  so  obvious  that  it  might  seem  to  need 
no  discussion.  Nevertheless,  the  majority  of  those  who  try 
unsuccessfully  to  present  their  ideas  in  narrative  form  look 
for  the  fault  in  the  wrong  place.  They  attribute  their  failure 
to  some  mysterious  flaw  in  their  "English,"  when  the  real 
difficulty  is  that  their  thought  is  either  utterly  common- 
place or  untrue.  Nor  is  the  truth  of  this  point  a  matter 
which  concerns  only  the  professional  author.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  many  a  story  is  the  more  salable  because  it  lies  about 
life.  Its  popularity  is  often  due  largely  to  the  fact  that  it 
represents  what  people  would  like  to  believe  rather  than 


IMAGINATION  IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT  59 

what  they  do  believe.  But  such  success  is  failure  for  the 
man  who  is  really  trying  to  convey  an  idea.  He  must  make 
his  audience  feel  that  his  story  represents  what  they  ought 
to  believe. 

The  problem  we  are  considering,  then,  is  certainly  not 
exclusively  or  even  primarily  that  of  the  professional  author 
nor  that  of  the  student  who  wishes  only  to  write  something 
which  will  appease  an  instructor  who  demands  a  story.  It 
is  that  of  any  man  who  desires  to  make  any  other  person 
see  some  point  as  he  sees  it  and  to  utilize  for  this  purpose 
the  fact  that  most  people  are  much  more  readily  interested 
in  narrative  than  in  the  direct  presentation  of  ideas.  That 
certain  of  our  weekly  and  monthly  periodicals  are  more 
and  more  employing  this  means  of  influencing  public  opinion 
is  good  evidence  of  its  value,  evidence  of  interest  to  others 
than  the  makers  of  magazines ;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  that 
which  works  in  magazines  will  work  equally  well  with  the 
smaller  audience  of  college,  society,  business,  politics,  with 
which  the  ordinary  man  is  concerned ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  man  who  reads  or  hears  such  stories  needs  to  be 
able  to  read  them  or  hear  them  intelligently  so  that  they 
will  have  only  the  influence  they  deserve. 

It  is  by  no  means  the  purpose  of  this  section  to  give  a 
series  of  directions  supposed  to  enable  anyone  to  write  a 
successful  story.  Such  directions  are  about  as  valuable  as 
a  set  of  precepts  on  how  to  choose  a  wife.  The  good  results 
of  advice  in  either  case  are  commonly  negative  rather  than 
positive.  Besides,  the  technique  of  story  writing  is  a  sub- 
ject which  cannot  profitably  be  discussed  in  a  paragraph 
or  two.  It  is  possible,  therefore,  only  to  suggest  some 
general  principles  of  use  to  one  attempting  to  convey  his 
ideas  by  means  of  narrative,  and  also,  perhaps,  to  the  reader 
of  stories  who  has  thought  of  them  only  as  a  variety  of  enter- 
tainment. 


60  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

The  man  who  puts  narrative  into  the  service  of  thought 
must  not  only  have  a  real  thought,  but  must  also  embody- 
that  thought  in  a  plausible  situation.  It  goes  without  say- 
ing that  no  one  will  be  convinced  of  the  truth  of  a  general 
proposition  by  a  highly  improbable  case  or  one  which  is 
plainly  an  exceptional  one.  It  is  quite  true  that  the  United 
States  should  have  a  more  adequate  army  and  navy,  but 
very  few  sensible  people  would  be  convinced  of  this  by  a 
story  which  represented  any  foreign  power  as  landing  on 
our  shores  within  a  month  an  army  of  a  million  men  fully 
equipped  with  horses,  motors,  ammunition,  and  big  guns. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  more  the  incidents  of  a  story  can 
be  made  to  seem  at  once  plausible  and  typical,  the  greater 
its  effect  as  a  means  for  propagating  ideas  is  likely  to  be. 
One  of  the  main  reasons  why  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  influ- 
enced the  minds  of  large  numbers  of  people  was  that  Mrs. 
Stowe  made  her  readers  feel  that  the  misfortunes  of  Liza 
and  Uncle  Tom  were  of  a  sort  likely  to  occur  to  thousands 
of  slaves  under  conditions  then  existing.  If  these  misfor- 
tunes had  seemed  merely  those  of  two  individuals,  one  might 
have  felt  regret  and  let  the  matter  drop  there ;  but,  being 
typical,  they  aroused  widespread  hostility  to  the  system  that 
made  them  possible. 

This  particular  book  is  an  admirable  illustration  of  a 
point  which  must  not  be  overlooked.  The  popular  success 
of  a  story  as  a  means  for  presenting  an  idea  is  not  necessarily 
an  indication  of  real  value  in  the  idea  or  in  the  story.  If 
"Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  is  not  now  commonly  considered  to 
be  a  great  novel,  it  is  largely  because  the  situations  and  char- 
acters are  neither  true  to  life  in  general  nor  fairly  typical 
of  conditions  existing  in  the  South  of  1850.  The  fact  re- 
mains, however,  that  they  were  plausible  enough  to  seem 
true  to  many  people  at  the  time,  and  hence  to  convey  Mrs. 
Stowe's  ideas  about  slavery.     They  served  their  purpose, 


IMAGINATION   IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT         6 1 

but  one  may  now  smile  at  the  author's  reported  remark  that 
"God  wrote  the  book." 

Another  point  often  disregarded  is  that  the  incidents 
chosen  for  the  story  should  properly  be  such  that  they  will 
in  themselves  carry  the  author's  meaning.  Dozens  of  sto- 
ries and  plays  have  failed  because  in  them  the  imaginative 
conception  of  the  theme  was  only  partially  complete.  It 
is  not  enough  that  the  author  should  imagine  a  group  of 
people  to  whom  something  happens  which  he  can  make  the 
text  of  a  discourse,  or  who  for  one  reason  or  another  get 
together  and  discuss  at  length  the  problem  in  which  the 
author  is  interested.  It  may  occasionally  happen,  as  in 
the  case  of  Bernard  Shaw's  plays,  that  the  author's  ideas 
are  so  interesting  or  the  expression  of  them  so  brilliant  that 
they  will  hold  the  attention  of  the  reader  or  playgoer  with- 
out further  aid.  But  the  success  in  that  case  is  riot  that 
of  the  narrative  but  that  of  the  discussion ;"  the  ideas  carry 
the  story  rather  than  the  story  the  ideas.  Besides,  there 
are  few  Shaws,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  effect  of  the 
average  story  or  play  intended  to  convey  an  idea  is  in  inverse 
ratio  to  the  amount  of  abstract  discussion  of  the  theme. 
In  plays  like  "A  Doll's  House"  or  "Justice"  the  incidents 
and  characters  speak  for  themselves  and  make  their  impres- 
sion unaided.  Nora  and  Falder  are  no  mere  mouthpieces 
for  Ibsen  and  Galsworthy.  What  they  say  is  not  merely 
what  the  author's  purpose  demands,  but  what  such  people 
would  say  under  such  conditions. 

Finally,  it  is  not  enough  that  the  story  shall  really  embody 
the  author's  idea ;  it  must  also  be  interesting  in  itself.  It 
is  not  enough  for  a  man  to  say  to  himself,  "It  makes  me  sore 
to  see  the  way  a  man  is  misjudged  on  the  basis  of  one  charac- 
teristic. I'll  make  a  story  about  a  chap  who  really  likes 
people  and  the  place  he's  in,  but  who  is  a  failure  socially 
and  gets  himself  hated  as  a  knocker  because  he  never  hesi- 


62  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND  IMAGINATION 

tates  to  speak  out  when  he  thinks  something  is  wrong  or 
going  to  hurt  the  place."  Unless  the  writer  devises  a  really- 
interesting  series  of  incidents  which  will  arouse  the  reader's 
sympathy,  he  loses  the  persuasive  power  of  direct  argument 
without  gaining  anything  in  return.  For  it  is  clearly  true 
that  an  idea  embodied  in  fiction  is  less  intellectually  con- 
vincing than  one  supported  by  a  mass  of  cold  facts.  If  the 
imaginative  treatment  does  not  arouse  interest,  it  is  useless. 
One  of  our  successful  playwrights  remarked  not  long  ago 
that  he  had  for  years  wanted  to  write  a  play  dealing  with 
woman  suffrage.  When  asked  why  he  had  not  done  so, 
he  replied,  "I  can't  hit  upon  an  interesting  story  that  will 
really  carry  my  ideas.     I  must  have  that  first  of  all." 

IV 

To  the  experienced  author  of  short  stories  or  novels  or 
plays  such  a  lumping  of  them  together  as  is  to  be  found  in 
the  preceding  section  would  seem  confusing.  To  him  the 
differences  between  these  various  literary  forms  are  often 
more  apparent  than  their  likeness  as  imaginative  vehicles 
of  ideas.  And  certainly  these  differences  are  not  to  be 
ignored.  Stuff  that  would  make  a  good  novel  might  make 
an  uncommonly  bad  play,  and  vice  versa.  An  idea  which 
can  be  clearly  and  effectively  conveyed  by  a  single  scene 
will  look  excessively  thin  if  it  is  stretched  over  four  acts 
or  four  hundred  pages.  Such  a  study  of  the  effect  of  envi- 
ronment on  character  as  appears  in  Hardy's  "The  Return  of 
the  Native"  could  scarcely  be  transferred  to  the  stage. 

But  to  discuss  adequately  what  form  is  best  suited  to  a 
given  idea  would  lead  us  far  afield.  To  attempt  the  task 
would  be  to  fall  short  of  any  save  the  vaguest  of  conclu- 
sions ;  for  the  choice  between  dramatic  and  narrative  form 
is  not  infrequently  determined  solely  by  the  writer's  turn 
of   mind.     And    such   a   discussion   would   inevitably   raise 


IMAGINATION  IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THOUGHT         63 

technical  problems  of  construction  which  are  outside  the 
scope  of  this  book. 

All  that  has  been  said  in  the  preceding  sections  applies, 
however,  as  well  to  one  form  as  to  another,  to  the  simple 
narrative  or  the  one  act  play,  as  well  as  to  the  novel  in  three 
volumes  or  the  dramatic  trilogy.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
a  man  bitterly  opposed  to  capital  punishment  who  deter- 
mines to  win  sympathy  for  his  point  of  view  by  presenting 
it  in  an  imaginative  form.  He  needs  first  to  ask  himself 
very  seriously  whether  or  not  his  idea  is  really  sound.  Sup- 
pose he  determines  to  awaken  interest  in  his  thought  by 
means  of  a  concrete  example  of  the  wrong  capital  punish- 
ment may  work.  After  casting  about  for  such  an  example 
he  finally  plans  to  tell  of  a  traveling  salesman  accused  of 
murder,  entrapped  by  the  third  degree  into  incriminating 
admissions,  convicted,  sentenced,  executed,  and  too  late 
proved  innocent  by  the  confession  of  the  real  criminal.  Are 
these  incidents  plausible  and  typical  ?  Do  they  really  em- 
body the  idea  ?  Will  the  narrative  be  of  interest  in  itself  ? 
Such  questions  the  author  must  ask  himself,  whether  he 
proposes  to  write  a  play  or  a  story,  whether  he  intends  to 
treat  his  idea  briefly  or  at  length.  If  he  is  to  write  a  really 
good  story  or  a  really  good  play,  he  must  also  solve,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  the  peculiar  technical  problems 
imposed  by  the  chosen  medium ;  but  these  general  problems 
are  raised  in  any  case. 

Whatever  the  form  decided  upon,  such  use  of  the  imagina- 
tion in  the  service  of  thought  is  not  limited  to  the  makers 
of  great  literature.  It  is  not  limited  to  the  telling  of  tales, 
dramatic  or  otherwise.  It  means,  in  the  widest  sense,  no 
more  than  to  think  and  to  express  one's  thought,  not  in 
terms  of  x  and  y,  but  in  terms  of  John  and  Jenny  —  not 
merely  in  terms  of  The  Duty  of  a  Fraternity  to  a  College, 
but  also  in  terms  of  the  duty  of  a  particular  fraternity  to  a 


64  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND  IMAGINATION 

particular  college  —  something  that  requires  neither  genius 
nor  any  remarkable  quality  of  mind. 

Forcing  oneself  to  think  thus  concretely  has  a  very  practi- 
cal value.  To  do  so  is  to  get  back  through  thought  to  the 
facts  of  life.  Abstractions  are  often  convenient,  but  they 
are  also  dangerous ;  for  they  do  not  conform  completely  to 
the  truth  of  things  as  we  know  them.  It  is  convenient  to 
talk  about  Man ;  but  what  we  really  know  is  not  Man,  but 
men.  We  speak  glibly  of  Nature  acting  in  this  way  or 
that,  but  do  we  know  whereof  we  speak  ?  If  there  were 
less  said  about  the  College  Student,  a  non-existent  abstrac- 
tion, and  more  about  the  infinitely  various  individuals 
who  actually  go  to  college,  we  should  be  spared  many  dull 
and  foolish  words.  If  there  were  less  thinking  in  terms  of 
Labor  and  Capital  and  more  in  terms  of  such  very  human 
figures  as  Tom  Poulos,  who  works  in  the  smelter,  and  Stephen 
Forman,  who  owns  it,  the  general  interest  in  the  questions 
involved  would  be  greater  and  the  answers  to  them  nearer 
at  hand.  To  put  the  imagination  into  the  service  of 
thought  is  to  put  it  into  the  service  of  truth. 

Hence  imagination,  which  may  serve  to  awaken  and  re- 
tain the  reader's  interest,  may  also  serve  another  and  still 
more  important  purpose,  that  of  making  the  thing  written 
worthy  the  reader's  assent.  Writing  that  is  interesting, 
that  is  powerful,  that  is  true  —  in  other  words,  the  best 
writing  —  is  the  product  of  imagination  as  well  as  of  facts 
and  thought.  Other  factors  may  conceivably  contribute 
to  the  desired  result,  but  it  is  out  of  these  three  that  good 
writing  is  essentially  made. 


PART  II 

ILLUSTRATIONS 
GROUP  ONE 

(To   ACCOMPANY   CHAPTER   I) 

HABIT  FORMATION  AND  REFORMATION1 

Eliott  Park  Frost 

Recent  experimental  investigation  has  established  much 
of  the  mechanism  of  our  mental  life.  We  are  beginning  to 
understand  how  our  minds  work.  It  once  was  thought  that 
animals  alone  act  from  instinct,  and  that  their  behavior  is 
therefore  predictable ;  but  that  man  acts  from  a  will  directed 
by  wisdom  and  reason,  and  behaves  in  ways  unpredictable 
and  free.  This  poetical  distinction  is  on  the  highroad  to 
oblivion.  The  more  the  psychologist  studies  the  mind 
and  the  way  it  works  in  normal  daily  life,  and  the  more  the 
psychiatrist  studies  the  mind  and  the  way  it  works  in  the 
insane  and  abnormal,  the  more  each  is  wholly  convinced 
that  the  nervous  system  is  a  mechanism  or  machine :  won- 
derful and  complex,  but  none  the  less  a  machine. 

Now  the  significance  of  a  machine  is  that  it  works  infal- 
libly :  when  energy  of  a  certain  sort  is  put  into  it,  this  energy 
is  transformed  into  energy  of  a  different  sort  and  the  job 
to  be  accomplished  is  done.  Throughout  it  is  assumed  that 
the  amount  of  energy  necessary  to  do  the  particular  work 
can  be  calculated  and  regulated,  and  the  machine  and  its 

1  Reprinted  from  "The  Yale  Review  "  for  October,  1914,  by  special  per- 
mission of  the  editors. 

F  65 


66  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

product  controlled.  That  the  human  body  is  this  kind 
of  machine  every  one  now  admits.  It  requires  a  certain 
amount  of  meat  and  bread  and  water  to  run  it  efficiently; 
if  it  gets  more  or  less  than  this  amount  its  efficacy  is  di- 
minished. Among  psychologists  and  nerve  specialists  pre- 
cisely the  same  attitude  is  taken  towards  the  mind.  Labora- 
tory investigations  upon  mental  processes,  animal  and 
human,  are  indisputable.  If  you  will  allow  me  the  same 
nice  control  of  your  nervous  system  that  I  have  of  my 
gasoline  engine,  I  will  guarantee  to  develop  in  you  behavior 
as  explicit  in  quantity  and  quality  as  I  get  from  the  engine. 

To  a  degree,  I  can  already  regulate  the  behavior  of  others. 
Practically,  I  know  very  well  that  if  I  offer  a  certain  man 
five  dollars  he  will  come  to  work  for  me  for  a  day.  Prac- 
tically, I  know  that  if  I  offer  a  certain  other  type  of  man 
twenty-five  dollars  he  will  steal,  or  set  a  fire,  or  do  some 
other  criminal  act  for  me.  Practically,  I  am  sure  that  Mr. 
Brown,  the  wealthy  banker,  will  probably  do  none  of  these 
things  for  any  price.  Practically,  I  know  that  if  a  group 
of  people  are  herded  together  in  a  narrow  building,  and  I 
cry  "Fire!"  there  will  be  a  panic,  or  that  if  I  scatter  gold 
coins  in  the  street,  I  can  in  this  way  block  traffic  so  long  as 
the  money  lasts.  I  am  as  sure  of  these  things,  as  sure  that 
people  in  general  will  behave  in  these  ways,  as  I  am  that 
a  kitten  will  chase  a  rolling  ball.  I  know  that  behavior  is 
determined  in  the  long  run  by  factors  that  are  as  invariable 
as  the  tides  of  the  sea. 

Not  only  can  I  thus  naively  anticipate  the  behavior  of 
my  fellow  men,  but  from  my  individual  experience  and 
observation  I  can  trace  at  once  the  causes  of  many  of  the 
variations  in  their  demeanor  and  my  own.  What  we  eat 
and  drink,  the  amount  of  sleep  we  get,  the  exercise  we  take, 
the  people,  things,  and  ideas  that  surround  us,  —  these 
restrict  and  mould  us  in  ways  of  living.     We  are  a  distinct 


ILLUSTRATIONS  6j 

person  at  7  a.m.  and  quite  another  at  7  p.m.  We  seem  dif- 
ferent, even  to  ourselves,  as  we  till  our  gardens  in  old  clothes 
and  slouch  hat,  from  that  immaculate  host  who  in  the 
evening  greets  his  guests  at  dinner.  A  touch  of  sea-sickness, 
and  the  man  we  were  has  shrivelled  to  the  least  possible 
denominator. 

No  earlier  than  yesterday  floods,  famine,  disease,  pesti- 
lence, and  insanity  were  regarded  as  evils  common  to  the 
human  lot.  But  to-day  one  has  ceased  to  censure  angry 
gods,  and  men  are  busy  looking  for  dirt,  and  germs,  and 
ignorance,  and  human  greed  to  explain  these  things.  Yet 
precisely  the  obsolete  notion  of  our  bodies  and  material  con- 
ditions that  once  obtained,  still  obtains  among  laymen  re- 
garding the  mind.  Too  many  men  are  still  petitioning  for 
powers  that  really  lie  resident  within  themselves  —  and 
they  do  not  know  it. 

Whether  consciously  or  unconsciously,  the  business  of 
life  can  be  done  only  in  obedience  to  nerve  laws.  To  pray 
for  strength  to  fight  the  devil,  and  at  the  same  time  to  over- 
eat, under-sleep,  to  worry,  to  loll  about  in  stuffy  rooms,  to 
force  the  brain  to  action  when  the  stomach  is  replete,  to  deny 
oneself  the  natural  cathartics  of  play  and  recreation,  —  this 
is  to  disinfect  the  house  against  yellow  fever  and  leave  the 
windows  open  to  the  deadly  mosquito  and  its  poison.  Just 
as  knowledge  of  the  plain  facts  of  sanitation  is  saving  lives 
and  health  of  body  to-day,  so  will  knowledge  of  nerve  laws 
save  lives  and  health  to-morrow.  For  our  splendid  nervous 
systems,  complex  as  they  are,  work  with  the  precision  of 
fine-wrought  mechanism.  To  comprehend  this  mechanism 
is  in  part  to  control  it.  Psychology  and  physiology  are  ex- 
plaining and  describing  in  simple  terms  what  heretofore  has 
been  thought  mystical  and  supernatural. 

An  experiment  will  illustrate  the  simplest  act  that  our 
nerves  can  execute.     Sit  down  and  cross  one  leg  over  the 


68  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

other,  then  tap  sharply  just  below  the  knee-cap  of  the  sus- 
pended leg.  The  foot  will  give  a  sudden  jerk.  It  has  moved 
"reflexly"  or  "automatically."  At  the  tap,  a  nervous 
impulse  is  released  and  travels  at  the  rate  of  some  four  hun- 
dred feet  per  second  up  a  so-called  sensory  nerve  to  the 
spinal  cord.  There,  in  the  region  of  the  small  of  the  back, 
this  nervous  impulse  passes  over  to  another  nerve,  a  motor 
nerve,  and  is  reflected  back  to  the  muscle,  causing  the  foot 
to  jump.  The  jump  seems  instantaneous,  but  it  is  not. 
Time  enough  has  elapsed  for  the  trip  of  nervous  energy  up 
and  back.  If  any  obstruction  be  placed  in  the  circuit  the 
reflex  jerk  will  not  take  place,  however  severely  the  knee 
be  struck. 

The  technical  name  for  this  path  of  nervous  impulse  is 
"sensori-motor  arc."  Sensori-motor  arc  is  a  functional 
term  ;  it  describes,  not  a  structure,  but  a  typical  nervous  act. 
The  structure  upon  which  it  depends  consists  of  three  dis- 
tinct paths :  a  sensory  or  ingoing  nerve,  a  central  or  con- 
necting nerve,  and  a  motor  or  outgoing  nerve.  It  thus  acts 
like  a  telephone  system :  the  message  goes  in  to  the  switch- 
board, is  at  this  central  office  transferred,  and  passes  out 
finally  over  another  wire  to  the  distant  friend,  whether  next 
door,  or  in  another  State,  —  in  short  as  far  as  the  wires  may 
reach.  In  a  human  adult  there  are  some  eleven  thousand 
million  of  these  "wires"  or  nerve  elements;  but  every  act 
we  perform,  thought  we  think,  or  emotion  we  feel,  makes 
use  of  this  single  principle  of  the  sensori-motor  arc :  an 
ingoing,  a  central,  and  an  outgoing  nerve  path. 

Another  conspicuous  illustration  of  primitive  nervous 
action  is  found  in  the  ordinary  garden-worm.  One  cannot 
afford  to  scorn  this  humble  creature.  Not  only  does  he 
beautifully  display  nerves  in  their  elemental  behavior,  but, 
unlikely  as  it  seems,  he  is  an  undoubted  ancestral  type  of 
man,  a  few  score  of  thousand  of  years  removed.     His  ner- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  69 

vous  system  is  very  like  the  human  nervous  system,  only 
simpler.  If  sometime  after  a  heavy  rain,  when  these  worms 
are  crawling  about  over  the  ground,  one  cuts  the  creature 
in  two  he  will  find  that  while  one  portion  squirms  and 
writhes  as  if  in  pain,  the  other  part  (and  this  the  head  end), 
will  crawl  off  unconcernedly,  the  loss  of  half  its  body  ap- 
pearing as  it  were  a  most  indifferent  affair,  quite  beneath 
notice.  The  explanation  for  this  curious  behavior  is  that 
the  nerves  which  connect  the  various  longitudinal  muscles 
of  the  worm  conduct  nervous  impulses  in  one  direction  only, 
and  that  backwards.  The  head  end  of  the  worm  is  not 
informed  that  its  tail  is  missing.  When  one  goes  fishing 
and  finds  that  his  worm  resents  being  strung  upon  the  hook, 
turning  him  end  for  end  will  have  an  extraordinarily  sooth- 
ing effect. 

As  in  the  worm,  so  also  the  impulses  in  our  own  sensori- 
motor arcs  must  go  in  a  prescribed  direction.  Sensory 
nerves  always  carry  impulses  towards  nerve  centres  (as  for 
instance  towards  the  spinal  cord),  while  motor  nerves  always 
conduct  impulses  away  from  nerve  centres  towards  muscles. 
Neither  sensory  nor  motor  nerves  ever  act  in  the  reverse 
direction.  The  reason  for  this  peculiarity  of  nerves  will 
lead  us  into  the  heart  of  the  problem  of  habit  formation. 

But  the  worm  has  other  characteristics  that  anticipate 
human  behavior  to  an  even  more  remarkable  degree.  In 
the  first  place,  the  worm  is  made  up  of  segments,  and  each 
segment  is  much  like  every  other  segment.  In  man  there 
are  still  traces  of  this  old  segmented  structure,  now  only 
vestigial  ruins  of  a  vanished  biological  past.  Already  in 
the  worm,  however,  the  forward  or  head  segment  is  dis- 
similar to  the  other  segments  —  larger,  for  one  thing,  and 
containing  more  nervous  tissue.  Well,  human  heads  with 
their  big  brains  exhibit  just  this  same  unequally  distributed 
nervous  tissue  still  further  developed ;    and  developed,  too, 


70  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

exactly  where  it  was  most  needed,  at  the  head  end  of  man's 
ancestor;  for  one  must  remember  that,  geologically  speak- 
ing, man  has  been  walking  upright  for  a  comparatively  few 
years  only ;  and  in  quadruped  days,  or  still  earlier  when 
he  crawled,  this  head  was  naturally  the  first  part  of  him  to 
come  in  contact  with  things.  By  no  means  is  it  therefore 
mere  chance  that  most  of  the  senses  are  grouped  in  the  head. 
Ears,  eyes,  nose,  mouth,  and  sensitive  lips  represent  the 
front  or  business  end  of  the  body.  As  man's  ancient  rela- 
tive crawled  towards  and  into  his  new  environments,  it  was 
obviously  necessary,  if  he  was  to  live  in  a  hostile  world,  that 
he  should  acquire  an  ability  to  sense  the  presence  of  food 
and  water  and  good  things  generally,  or  to  detect  the  pres- 
ence of  enemies  and  trouble.  And  equally  it  was  necessary 
that  he  should  be  able  to  send  the  information  thus  acquired 
to  the  segments  following  after ;  otherwise  the  head  seg- 
ment, however  keen  its  sense  organs,  might,  while  perceiving 
the  danger  in  front,  nevertheless  be  thrust  willy-nilly  into 
it  by  pressure  from  the  uninformed  segments  following  in 
the  rear.  The  animal,  in  short,  must  be  able  not  only  to 
sense  its  world,  but  to  act  as  a  whole  in  response  to  these 
findings.  This  much  ability  the  worm  has ;  and  this  much 
ability,  in  still  primitive  fashion,  human  centres  possess  auto- 
matically, independent  of  the  brain. 

The  nervous  system  is  really  then  a  long  bundle  of  nerve 
fibres  called  a  cord,  spinal  cord,  with  a  big  enlargement  at 
one  end,  the  brain  ;  and  the  whole  system  acts  like  a  gigantic 
switch-board,  ever  translating  incoming  impulses  from  the 
outside  world  back  again  to  muscles,  and  so  finally  into 
movements  and  behavior.  The  simplest  of  these  impulses 
like  that  of  the  knee-jerk  is  translated  at  once  and  directly 
in  the  spinal  cord,  but  the  more  complex  impulses  are  sent 
up  to  the  higher  centres  of  the  brain. 

The  functions  of  the  spinal  cord  are  two  in  number.     One 


ILLUSTRATIONS  71 

is  to  transfer  a  sensory  impulse  directly  into  a  motor  impulse, 
as  in  the  knee-jerk,  or  in  the  instinctive  withdrawal  of  the 
hand  at  the  touch  of  a  hot  iron ;  and  the  other  is  to  carry 
to  the  brain  those  impulses  which  it  cannot  itself  take  care 
of,  and  to  bring  back  therefrom  the  proper  message  to  the 
muscles.  This  latter  type  of  activity  constitutes  the  con- 
scious or  willed  acts. 

All  those  movements  performed  by  the  spinal  cord  alone 
are  unmodifiable  by  any  conscious  volition  on  the  part  of 
the  individual.  They  are  common  to  the  species.  All  nor- 
mal human  knees  behave  in  just  one  way  when  tapped 
sharply.  Only  disease  or  grave  impairment  of  the  body  will 
change  this  action.  The  nerve  paths  which  such  impulses 
use  are  formed  before  birth.  If  all  habits  were  of  this  sort, 
the  problem  of  habit  reformation  would  be  answered  just 
here,  and  one  could  look  upon  himself  as  a  helpless  spectator 
of  the  processes  of  life.  One  cannot  modify  the  simple 
reflex  acts  of  the  body.     We  cannot  train  our  knees. 

Fortunately,  most  acts  are  controlled  not  by  the  spinal 
cord,  or  not  by  the  spinal  cord  alone,  but  involve  a  greater 
circuit,  namely  the  brain.  It  is  in  the  possession  of  an 
extremely  developed  brain  that  man  surpasses  the  lower 
animals.  Many  creatures  have  keener  senses  than  has  man. 
Dogs  probably  live  in  an  atmosphere  of  odors  that  humans 
never  sense  at  all.  Some  species  of  moths  can  scent  a  mate 
for  three  miles.  Vultures  can  see  their  prey  for  twenty 
miles.  But  in  ability  to  combine  and  use  the  data  that  the 
senses  give,  man  has  no  equal. 

Yet  brains  are  not  only  the  great  switch-board  for  myriads 
of  nervous  interconnections,  allowing  the  combining  of  any 
one  of  thousands  of  incoming  impressions  with  any  one  of 
thousands  of  motor  channels,  but  they  are  also  the  seat  of 
memory.  That  is,  by  their  mechanism  every  impression  that 
comes  in  is  not  alone  sent  out  again  in  some  fashion,  but  an 


72  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

account  is  kept  of  the  transaction,  so  that  a  subsequent 
impression  has  a  chance  to  be  modified  by  the  results  of 
former  favorable  or  unfavorable  experiences.  The  old 
sensori-motor  arc  is  nevertheless  still  in  function.  In  the 
brain  circuit  there  is  as  before,  an  ingoing  path,  sensory  to 
the  brain,  and  an  outgoing  path,  motor  from  the  brain. 
The  significant  difference  is  in  the  central  path,  the  brain 
itself.  This  mass  of  central  or  connecting  nervous  tissue 
of  so  simple  a  sort  in  the  spinal  cord,  is  become  in  the  brain 
very  complex  indeed,  so  that  the  entering  impulse  has  no 
longer  a  predetermined  path  waiting  to  take  it  out  to  a 
predisposed  muscle.  Rather  its  exit  is  here  determined  by 
many  factors.  The  problem  of  habit,  in  a  word,  is  the 
problem  of  the  control  of  these  several  factors.  What 
information  the  senses  impart  depends  in  the  large  upon  en- 
vironment. Any  ability  that  man  possesses  is  to  reject  or 
accept,  to  ignore  or  attend  to  these  impressions.  Each 
impression  represents  just  so  much  chemical  or  physical 
energy  that  is  bound  to  find  outlet  somewhere,  somehow. 
Can  one  control  these  paths  of  exit  so  that  the  resultant 
movements  and  behavior  shall  be  of  one  sort  and  not  of 
another  ?  When  the  knee  is  hit  the  foot  jumps.  One  is 
powerless  to  prevent  it.  When  presented  with  a  glass  of 
beer,  is  one  equally  powerless  to  govern  his  action  ?  Is  the 
path  "to  take,"  or  the  path  "not  to  take"  a  controllable 
one,  and  if  so  how  is  it  to  be  controlled  ?  Here  is  the  nub 
of  the  problem  of  habit.  If  one  can  find  out  just  what  fac- 
tors specifically  determine  the  taking  or  the  rejecting  of 
the  beer,  a  long  stride  will  be  made  towards  solving  the 
mechanism  of  habit  control. 

To  go  back  for  a  moment  to  the  figure  of  the  telephone. 
The  message  comes  in  over  a  single  wire.  At  the  central 
office  connections  can  be  made  for  any  one  of  thousands  of 
other  wires,  over  which  the  message  may  go  out.     To  the 


ILLUSTRATIONS  73 

casual  onlooker  it  would  be  difficult  if  not  impossible  to 
predict  in  advance  the  connection  that  "central"  will  make. 
Nevertheless  for  each  connection  made,  there  is  some  ade- 
quate reason.  For  some  cause  or  other,  one  combination  is 
secured  and  all  other  possible  connections  are  rejected.  This 
done,  the  message  goes  out  over  its  particular  wire  as  me- 
chanically and  fatally  as  it  came  in  to  the  central  office.  The 
central  office  alone  holds  the  reins  of  discretion,  the  reins 
of  power. 

Now  this  exquisite  function  appears  to  be  performed  in 
human  nervous  systems  by  a  microscopic  mechanism  found 
in  every  sensori-motor  arc.  Its  discovery  has  been  only 
recent.  The  name  given  it  is  "synapse."  By  synapse  is 
meant  the  point  of  junction  between  ingoing  and  outgoing 
nerve  fibres.  To  get  from  a  sensory  nerve  to  a  motor  nerve 
an  impulse  must  cross  a  synapse,  or  switch-board,  and  its 
path  may  include  an  indefinite  number  of  them.  The 
synapse  is  the  telephone  central,  and  upon  its  action  depends 
the  fate  of  the  impulse  :  whether  it  shall  be  allowed  to  pass 
out  to  muscle  A  or  muscle  B,  —  for  instance,  whether  one 
shall  take  or  shall  refuse  the  proffered  glass  of  beer.  In  this 
minute  mechanism,  then,  the  very  issues  of  conscious  life, 
and  so  of  character,  are  determined. 

By  a  series  of  experimental  investigations  it  has  proved 
possible  to  expose  the  mechanics  of  this  synapse  or  switch- 
board, to  show  how  it  works,  and  under  what  conditions  its 
action  can  be  modified.  For  the  layman  to  comprehend 
these  conditions,  the  sensori-motor  arc  or  circuit  must 
always  be  kept  clearly  in  mind.  In  simplest  terms  there  is 
an  incoming  impulse,  —  say,  the  sight  of  a  glass  of  beer ;  this 
impulse  may  be  drained  off  through  synapse  a  into  one  set 
of  muscles,  or  it  may  be  drained  off  through  synapse  b  into 
another  set  of  muscles.  In  one  case  the  man  takes  the  beer, 
in  the  other  he  refuses  it.     The  nervous  impulse  will  act 


74  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

precisely  like  an  electric  current,  following  the  easiest  path. 
The  impulse,  that  is,  will  pass  over  that  synapse  that  offers 
the  least  opposition.  Of  an  habitual  drinker  one  can  then 
affirm  that,  other  things  being  equal,  the  synapse  at  a  offers 
the  least  resistance ;  of  a  total  abstainer,  on  the  other  hand, 
one  can  say  that  the  synapse  at  a  offers  a  resistance  greater 
than  the  resistance  at  b. 

The  general  statement  may  now  be  made :  the  formation 
of  habits  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  breaking  down 
of  the  natural  resistance  offered  at  one  synapse,  and  the 
raising  of  resistance  offered  at  another  synapse ;  and  the  re- 
formation of  habits  is  the  reversal  of  this  process,  where  a 
synapse  of  great  resistance  is  broken  down,  and  a  synapse 
previously  weak  is  strengthened.  In  short,  physiology  has 
established  the  fact  that  the  problems  of  habit  formation 
and  reformation  find  ultimate  solution  in  the  readjustments 
of  synaptic  resistances. 

The  way  has  now  been  cleared  to  ask :  how,  then,  are 
resistances  at  the  synapses  varied,  so  that  at  one  time,  or  in 
a  given  nervous  system,  a  certain  path  readily  takes  an 
impulse  "out,  while  at  another  time,  or  in  another  nervous 
system,  that  same  path  is  blocked,  and  the  impulse  must 
seek  exit  elsewhere?  Why  does  one  man  act  foolishly, 
another  man  wisely  ?  Why  at  one  time  does  one  seem  to 
be  endowed  with  power  to  withstand  a  temptation,  to  which 
at  a  subsequent  time  he  yields  so  easily  ?  The  answer  to 
this  question  can  only  be  that  there  has  occurred  meantime  a 
readjustment  at  respective  synapses  :  paths  that  formerly 
offered  austere  resistance  have  been  weakened  to  permit  the 
passage  of  the  impulse,  and  paths  that  were  once  broken 
down  have  now  been  built  up,  and  thus  check  the  ready  pas- 
sage of  the  impulse.  In  popular  phrase,  the  man  has  formed 
good  or  bad  habits. 

Nerves    are    practically    unfatigueable.     One    speaks    of 


ILLUSTRATIONS  75 

"tired  nerves";  "nervous  prostration";  of  being  "nervously 
worn  out."  Nerves  do  not  fatigue.  These  phrases  are 
inaccurate.  It  is  these  switch-boards,  these  resistance-boxes, 
these  synapses  that  become  fatigued  and  prostrated.  A 
nerve  is  perhaps  the  last  portion  of  the  human  body  to  show 
wear.  Muscle  tissue  breaks  down  at  an  alarming  rate, 
but  nerves  exhibit  extraordinary  resiliency.  After  hours  of 
continuous  stimulation,  provided  it  be  not  beyond  the 
capacity  of  the  particular  tissues  involved,  nerves  will  show 
no  appreciable  effect.  In  this  respect  the  nerve  trunk  is  a 
conducting  wire,  neither  more  nor  less.  It  appears  to  possess 
perpetual  youth.  In  striking  contrast  to  the  almost  literally 
unfatigueable  nerves,  the  synapses  very  promptly  show 
fatigue  when  successively  stimulated.  Their  fatigue  is  in- 
stantly marked  by  an  increase  of  resistance  offered  to  any 
impulse,  so  that  either  the  stimulant  must  be  constantly 
increased  or  the  resultant  movement  in  the  muscle  will  grow 
less  and  less. 

In  the  second  place,  it  has  been  proved  that  in  the  nerve 
proper  an  impulse  can  pass  in  either  direction,  while  on  the 
contrary  just  so  soon  as  a  synapse  is  crossed  the  nervous 
process  becomes  irreversible.  Synapses,  that  is,  act  like 
trap-doors,  allowing  nerve  currents  to  pass  in  one  direction 
only.  Still  again,  experiment  has  established  the  fact  that 
these  "trap-doors"  will  not  open  when  a  weak  impulse  pre- 
sents itself,  but  will  dam  back  the  energy  in  such  an  impulse, 
resisting  it  until  several  such  feeble  currents  have  been 
summed  together.  This  resistance  is  then  broken  down  by 
the  collective  energies  thereby  accomplishing  what  one  or 
two  impulses  alone  could  not  do :  that  is,  move  the  muscle. 
Finally,  it  has  been  made  clear  that  these  synapses  exhibit 
the  liveliest  effects  of  toxic  poisons  carried  in  the  blood,  such 
as  drugs,  opiates,  and  anaesthetics,  whereas  the  nerves  proper 
are  relatively  immune  to  both  stimulants  and  narcotics.     . 


76  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

There  are,  then,  four  remarkable  peculiarities  in  the  action 
of  the  synapse,  demonstrable  by  experiment,  that  do  not 
appear  in  the  behavior  of  simple  nerve  fibres.  In  one  word, 
it  is  in  the  action  of  the  synapse  only  that  the  chief  modifica- 
tions attributed  to  the  nervous  system,  and  so  attributed  to 
consciousness,  find  expression. 

All  these  discoveries  have  led  to  the  astonishing  conclu- 
sion that  the  seat  of  consciousness,  at  one  time  thought  to 
be  the  pineal  gland,  is  really,  so  far  as  one  may  speak  of  a 
"seat"  at  all,  resident  in  the  millions  of  synapses  of  the 
nervous  system.  Whatever  one  may  say  of  the  action  of 
the  synapse,  may  equally  well  be  postulated  of  conscious- 
ness itself.  For  instance :  the  mental  processes  readily 
exhibit  fatigue  (one  feels  "mentally  tired");  consciousness 
is  irreversible  (time  always  appears  to  go  forward,  never 
backward) ;  consciousness  is  aware  of  minute  stimuli  only 
when  they  are  summed  together  (as  in  the  falling  of  rain- 
drops, or  in  the  buzzing  of  insects) ;  and  finally,  conscious- 
ness is  promptly  influenced  and  may  be  destroyed  by  drugs, 
alcohol,  opiates,  and  the  like  (as  in  intoxication  and  anes- 
thetization). Modify  the  synapse  and  consciousness  is 
changed.  Vary  synaptic  resistance  and  one  modifies,  and 
may  even  reverse,  behavior. 

From  this  somewhat  technical  explanation,  three  things 
regarding  the  action  of  a  human  nervous  system  will  be 
apparent.  First,  the  simplest  type  of  action,  such  as  the 
knee-jerk,  is  a  predictable,  unchangeable,  mechanical  pro- 
cess, that  is  accomplished  by  the  lower  centres,  such  as  the 
spinal  cord,  without  the  interposition  of  consciousness. 
Second,  consciousness  and  the  various  centres  represented 
by  the  brain,  have  been  evolved  to  give  a  greater  flexibility 
to  one's  responses ;  to  enable  the  sensing  of  a  wider  horizon, 
and  to  adjust  the  organism  more  closely  and  more  accurately 
to   this   more   complex   environment.     Finally,   all   nervous 


ILLUSTRATIONS  77 

action  is  controlled  and  modified  only  through  synaptic 
action,  and  does  not  depend  upon  the  nerves  as  such.  If 
the  synapses  are  single  or  simple  as  in  primitive  sensori- 
motor arcs,  behavior  is  then  simple  and  relatively  predicta- 
ble. If  the  synapses  are  numerous  and  sensitive  as  in  those 
great  sensori-motor  arcs  that  include  the  brain,  then  behavior 
becomes  relatively  unpredictable  and  complex,  depending 
not  merely  upon  the  character  of  the  stimulus,  but  upon  the 
condition  of  the  synapses  :  whether  they  be  in  normal  health, 
and  how  previous  experiences  (impulses)  have  left  them  dis- 
posed. 

All  this  is  physiology ;  in  lowest  terms  this  is  the  mech- 
anism of  nerve  action.  Now  what  of  psychology  ?  One  is 
presented  for  the  first  time  with  a  glass  of  beer.  If  no 
habits  for  or  against  beer-drinking  have  been  previously 
formed,  one  drinks  for  the  first  time.  The  result  is  per- 
haps unpleasant:  the  beer  tastes  "queer,"  or  "bitter,"  or 
"nauseating."  This  result  will  tend  to  raise  the  resistance 
at  that  synapse  which  controls  the  extending  of  the  arm, 
and  in  general  the  acquiescent  synapses  of  the  brain ;  upon 
a  second  presentation,  the  beer  may  be  rejected,  and  so  on, 
until  habits  of  abstinence  have  become  fixed.  Or  social 
restraint  may  in  like  manner  prevent  a  repetition  of  the 
drinking.  If  one  considers  it  immoral,  unwise,  or  as  op- 
posed to  the  preferences  of  one's  friends,  these  social  rea- 
sons may  sufficiently  raise  the  resistance  in  given  nerve 
channels  so  that  the  first  beer-drinking  will  prove  to  be  the 
last.  In  short,  pleasant  sensations  —  the  cool  draught  on  a 
hot  day,  the  exhilaration,  the  gay  companionship,  —  all  tend 
to  lower  one  chain  of  synapses,  while  unpleasant  effects  — 
displeasing  taste,  loss  of  social  caste,  pangs  of  conscience,  — 
all  tend  to  make  another  set  of  synapses  become  the  point 
of  least  resistance.  When  these  two  tendencies  balance 
each  other,  as  often  happens,  little  things  will  throw  the 


78  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

victory  to  one  side  or  the  other.  On  the  other  hand,  when 
one  is  an  habitual  drinker,  or  an  habitual  abstainer,  resist- 
ance is  so  preponderatingly  less  in  one  nervous  channel 
that  there  is  no  question  of  the  result.  The  older  the  habit, 
the  more  predictable  is  behavior. 

If  there  be  no  contrary  habit  to  combat,  habit  formation 
is  relatively  easy ;  the  only  difficult  feat  being  to  perform 
the  act  the  first  time.  Nervous  systems  are  so  constituted 
that,  like  garments,  it  is  easier  for  them  to  stay  in  the  same 
fold,  than  to  take  on  new  wrinkles,  do  new  things.  But  so 
soon  as  a  new  thing  becomes  desirable,  then,  unless  the  first 
trial  prove  unpleasant,  a  habit  may  be  established  readily 
enough  upon  half  a  dozen  trials.  For  instance,  if  I  persuade 
you  to  try  grape-fruit  for  the  first  time,  the  persuasion  is 
necessary  only  because  the  experience  is  new :  you  have 
never  tried  grape-fruit  before.  But  if  upon  taste  it  proves 
delectable,  you  find  it  agrees  with  your  liver,  and  your  doc- 
tor adds  his  recommendation,  —  if,  in  short,  all  the  results  of 
the  first  trial  are  favorable,  thereafter  you  eat  it  without 
hesitancy,  and  the  habit  is  already  formed.  Formation  of 
habits  of  this  sort  offers  no  problem  save  that  of  initiation. 
There  is  an  inertia  to  be  overcome  in  making  the  first  trial. 
This  is  the  reason  that  venders  and  purveyors  of  foods,  toilet 
articles,  and  general  household  minutiae  are  so  generous  with 
the  "sample  package."  If  you  can  be  but  once  persuaded 
to  overcome  your  natural  hesitancy  to  attempt  the  novel, 
their  battle  is  largely  won,  and  thereafter  you  "fall  into  the 
habit"  of  consuming  their  particular  breakfast  food,  or 
cosmetic,  as  though  it  were  indeed  "the  best  thing  on  the 
market." 

The  difficulty  lies  in  habit  reformation.  It  is  not  only  a 
question  of  breaking  down  a  novel  synapse,  but  there  is  now 
the  greater  question  as  to  how  that  old  path  worn  deep  by 
many  yieldings  shall  be  dammed.     The  formation  of  a  new 


ILLUSTRATIONS  79 

channel  is  useless  just  so  long  as  the  old  path  still  offers 
weak  resistance.  The  new  path  must  be  formed,  but  the  old 
path  must  be  blocked,  and  this  is  indeed  a  yeoman's  task. 
To  form  habits  of  slow  eating,  of  poise,  or  of  pure-minded- 
ness,  —  to  take  three  illustrations,  —  means  just  this  :  how 
can  I  break  my  habits  of  fast  eating,  of  intemperance,  of 
evil-mindedness  ?  And  the  problem  is  great  precisely  in 
terms  of  the  fixity  of  the  bad  habit.  Old  age  is  notoriously 
hard  to  reform.  A  matured  nervous  system  is  a  bundle  of 
habits,  a  closed  corporation.  Its  battles  are  memories  only; 
victory  or  defeat  now  lies  permanently  assured  with  one  side 
or  the  other.  Only  some  great  mental  or  moral  cataclysm 
can  disturb  the  synapses  that  control  the  behavior  of  such  a 
nervous  system.  Its  demeanor  has  become  predictable. 
The  problem  of  habit  reformation  here  is  maximally  great. 
Youth,  on  the  contrary,  is  "golden"  because  habits  are  not 
yet  hard  and  fast,  and  undesirable  paths  may  still  be  blocked. 
This  is  the  meaning  of  "opportunity,"  that  habits  may  be 
established,  and  yet  under  favorable  conditions  be  broken 
up,  and  newer,  more  worthy  habits  be  substituted  for  them. 
Psychology  as  it  comes  to  understand  nerve  laws  is  telling 
us  how  this  can  be  done. 

In  the  first  place,  to  bring  about  this  result,  all  possible 
brain  paths  must  conspire  to  facilitate  action  in  this  one  path. 
The  nervous  system  must  be  prepared  to  work  as  a  unit. 
Psychologically  this  means  that  there  must  be  a  lively  sense 
of  the  undesirableness  of  the  present  habit.  In  some  way, 
one  must  be  convinced  of  the  inadvisability  or  evil  of  con- 
tinuing in  his  present  course  of  action.  Content  never 
breeds  reform,  and  no  habit  will  be  improved  so  long  as  its 
results  are  favorable.  When  it  comes  to  be  perceived  as  bad 
for  the  health,  for  social  or  business  interests,  as  giving 
pain  to  one's  friends,  or  as  contrary  to  the  moral  standards 
and  principles  that  one  professes,  only  then  is  the  soil  fit  for 


80  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

the  new  seed.  Such  realization  is  the  first  goal  of  education. 
With  newer  ideals  comes  the  desire  for  better  things.  Divine 
discontent  is  the  prerequisite  for  reformation.  Even  this 
primary  task  will  be  no  sinecure,  for  half-hearted  action  will 
never  succeed. 

Secondly,  if  the  old  path  is  to  be  closed,  new  paths  must 
be  provided  to  drain  off  the  energy  in  suitable  ways.  This 
energy  cannot  be  simply  dammed  up  or  thrown  out  of  the 
system,  but  must  be  given  a  legitimate  outlet.  Some  new 
habit,  that  is,  must  be  initiated  to  replace  the  old.  The  old 
stimulants,  whether  from  the  environment  or  from  appetite 
within,  will  always  solicit,  and  one  can  neither  avoid  nor 
exclude  them.  One  who  tries  to  give  up  drinking  will  still 
have  saloons  to  pass.  The  sight  of  each  saloon,  aided  and 
abetted  by  cravings  from  within,  releases  energy  and  sends 
it  to  the  centres  as  formerly.  These  impulses  must  be 
sublimated,  that  is,  the  energy  they  represent  must  be  trans- 
formed into  serviceable  acts,  lest,  like  loose  energy  of  any 
sort,  it  wreck  the  machinery.  It  is  the  idle  hands  that  the 
devil  proverbially  provides  with  work.  To  busy  oneself  with 
other  things  to  do,  is  better  than  merely  clenching  the  teeth. 

Next,  since  nerve  paths  vary  greatly,  and  the  nervous 
system  is  subject  to  moments  of  great  depletion,  fatigue, 
and  ill-health,  care  should  be  taken  that  the  initial  effort 
comes  at  the  most  favorable  time.  The  chief  strain  will 
come  at  first,  and  therefore  this  must  be  at  the  "psycho- 
logical moment"  and  the  "psychological  place";  a  time 
when  all  favorably  predisposing  conditions  are  present. 
These  secondary  factors  are  of  great  importance.  The  lure 
of  the  saloon  to  the  man,  or  of  the  cadet  to  the  woman, 
comes  with  peculiar  force  at  the  end  of  the  day,  when  fatigue 
sets  in,  resistances  are  hard  to  establish,  and  are  easily 
broken  down.  Many  a  synapse  battle  has  been  won  or  lost 
by  the  lay  of  the  land.     Even  artificial  aids,  such  as  choosing 


ILLUSTRATIONS  8 1 

the  first  day  of  the  year,  a  birthday,  or  the  signing  of  a  pledge, 
or  telling  one's  friends  of  the  new  resolution,  help  to  set  the 
stage  with  properties  conducive  to  success. 

Moreover,  we,  as  human  beings,  have  the  power  to  image 
to  ourselves  the  results  of  acts  in  advance  of  their  actual 
performance.  Synapses  may  be  modified,  that  is,  not  alone 
by  the  results  of  previous  action,  but  by  the  images  of  such 
action.  Not  only  the  memory  of  a  past  calamity  may  raise 
the  resistance  in  an  old  synapse  and  thus  prevent  a  repetition 
of  the  behavior  that  caused  it,  but  one  may  image  possible 
results  to  himself,  and  thereby  avoid  pitfalls  in  the  first 
place.  In  short,  the  knowledge  of  consequent  penalty, 
clearly  held  in  mind,  acts  mightily  in  favor  of  the  desirable 
synapse.  So  the  chief  aim  of  all  true  penal  institutions  and 
jail  sentences  is  not  so  much  to  punish  the  offender,  but 
rather  to  deter  the  would-be  criminal.  For  the  philosopher, 
to  see  the  goal  may  be  sufficient  incentive  to  lead  to  right 
action,  but  for  the  average  man  morality  must  be  dramatized, 
and  the  consequences  of  evil  be  sharply  contrasted  with  the 
beneficent  results  of  rectitude.  The  arousal  of  fears  of 
bodily  consequences  is  the  very  best  deterrent  that  can  be 
presented  to  youth  as  a  plea  for  morality. 

Now  therefore,  when  all  possible  favorable  conditions  have 
been  fulfilled,  and  the  psychological  moment  arrives,  the 
new  impulse  must  be  sent  over  its  novel  path  "full-blown," 
the  new  activities  strongly  initiated,  and  the  old  paths  closed 
forever.  The  old  nerve  path  must  be  blocked  once  for  all. 
Tapering  off,  the  allowing  of  partial  lapses,  is  a  mischievous 
method.  If  the  flood  once  breaks  down  the  new  dike  across 
the  old  synapse,  succeeding  waves  of  impulse  will  be  so  much 
the  harder  to  check.  No  dam  was  ever  mended  by  the  pour- 
ing in  of  sand.  To  make  an  exception,  with  the  reservation 
that  to-morrow  or  next  week  control  of  the  synapses  will 
be  surer  and  victory  easier,  is  to  invite  final  defeat. 

G 


82  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

And  last,  though  by  no  means  of  least  importance,  it 
should  be  borne  in  mind  that  human  nervous  systems  are  in 
process  of  constant  metabolism :  tissues  are  breaking  down 
while  new  ones  take  their  places ;  night  or  day,  week  in, 
week  out,  change  is  incessant.  Because  a  synapse  does  not 
yield  to-day  is  no  guarantee  that  it  will  not  yield  to-morrow. 
Fatigue  may  catch  one  unawares,  and  the  dam  that  appears 
so  firm  may,  in  a  moment  of  passion  or  excitement,  be  sud- 
denly loosed ;  the  old  channels  may  once  more  claim  their 
own.  Beware,  then,  of  idle  moments  when  the  mind  is 
filled  with  casual  thoughts  and  vigilance  is  relaxed.  One 
cannot  afford  to  think  about  the  old  habit  even  censoriously, 
for  to  think  of  not  doing  a  thing,  is  after  all  to  think  about 
that  thing,  and  the  mere  negative  will,  under  some  sudden 
stimulus,  lose  its  restraining  force.  There  is  a  well-known 
story  of  a  physician,  who,  to  test  his  hysterical  patient,  left 
her  the  extraordinary  instructions:  "Do  not  put  beans  in 
your  nose."  Certainly  this  idea  had  never  entered  her  mind 
until  that  moment.  But  the  more  she  brooded  upon  the 
prohibited  act  the  more  fascinating  it  became.  Finally  the 
suggestion  worked,  the  negative  instructions  were  over- 
powered or  forgotten,  and  the  physician,  on  his  return,  found 
his  patient  in  fact  doing  that  very  thing :  putting  beans  in 
her  nose ! 

We  know  that  consciousness  is  motor,  that  the  things  of 
which  we  think  are  bound  to  get  into  action  unless  prevented 
by  some  other  action.  If  you  close  your  eyes  and  simply 
think  of  the  window  at  your  right  or  the  door  upon  your 
left,  you  will  find  that  your  eyes  have  turned  with  your 
thoughts,  unconsciously.  Any  idea  whatsoever  held  contin- 
uously and  unchecked  before  the  mind  is  as  fatally  bound 
to  get  into  action,  as  is  water,  unrestrained,  to  seek  its  level. 
The  reason  why  at  this  moment  I  do  not  commit  the  atro- 
cious crime  of  which  I  may  be  thinking,  is  solely  because 


ILLUSTRATIONS  83 

other  more  powerful  thoughts  are  restraining  me.  This  is 
the  psychology  of  all  action.  All  acts  are  the  direct  result 
of  ideas  that,  for  the  moment  at  least,  are  free  and  unchecked 
by  contrary  ideas.  The  safe  rule  is  then  in  one's  leisure 
moments  to  avoid  thinking  of  the  old  habit  at  all,  in  any 
terms.  Let  bygones  be  bygones,  and  fill  the  mind  with  the 
new  habit,  with  fresh  ideas. 

Primarily  the  possession  of  a  good  physique,  of  a  healthy 
nervous  system,  depends  upon  birth :  the  character  of  the 
stock  from  which  one  comes.  This  fixes  the  capacity,  a  limit 
that  one  can  never  exceed.  With  this  material,  good  or  bad, 
one  must  work.     This  is  heredity. 

The  character  of  the  stimuli  which  surround  one  and 
solicit  one's  attention  every  hour,  constitutes  environment. 
In  formative  years  of  youth  this  environment,  to  a  peculiar 
degree,  makes  a  difference.  Many  a  man  knows  well  enough 
that  he  avoids  evil  only  by  avoiding  its  environment.  Fewer, 
perhaps,  realize  that  the  finding  of  a  new  and  more  whole- 
some environment  is  part  of  the  method  of  cure  for  unde- 
sirable habits. 

But  beyond  heredity,  and  beyond  environment,  are  those 
factors  that  determine  motives :  the  things  that  prod  us  to 
capacity  effort,  that  set  us  against  the  current  of  mere  cir- 
cumstance. These  things  are  ideas,  the  stuff  and  substance 
of  our  knowledge,  the  results  of  the  educative  process.  To 
realize  the  foolishness  of  evil,  to  understand  the  method  of 
its  avoidance,  and  to  know  how  to  substitute  for  its  indul- 
gence a  vigorous  habit  of  healthful  activity  is,  for  all  robust 
natures,  already  to  will,  and  to  achieve,  good  behavior. 


84  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

THE  ODYSSEY  OF  THE   SOCKEYE    SALMON1 

By  William  Charles  Scully 


The  fishing  industry  of  British  Columbia  is  of  enormous 
importance.  The  aggregate  value  of  the  fish  captured  each 
year  is  over  $14,000,000.  Toward  this  the  salmon  —  so- 
called  —  contributes  about  two-thirds,  and  of  the  five  species 
of  fish  classed  locally  as  salmon,  that  known  as  the  "  sock- 
eye"  is  most  numerous  and  economically  the  most  valuable. 
However,  it  is  not  now  proposed  to  deal  either  with  the 
economic  or  the  strictly  scientific  aspects  of  the  sockeye,  but 
rather  to  describe  some  of  the  known  features  of  its  remark- 
able life.     These  are  of  quite  extraordinary  interest.2 

In  a  technical  sense  the  five  species  of  fish  known  as 
salmon  on  the  Pacific  Coast  are  not  salmon  at  all  —  although 
more  or  less  closely  related  to  the  Salmo  genus.  All  five 
belong  to  the  genus  Oncorhyncus,  the  sockeye  being  known  as 
0.  nerka.  The  derivation  of  the  term  "  sockeye  "  is  obscure  ; 
Dr.  Jordan  suggests  that  it  may  be  derived  from  the  word 
"  sukie,"  by  which  this  fish  was  known  to  a  tribe  of  Indians 
which  in  old  days  inhabited  parts  of  the  southern  section  of 
what  is  now  British  Columbia.  The  sockeye  is  the  smallest 
but  one  of  the  five  species,  its  adult  weight  being  about  six 
pounds  and  its  length  averaging  some  twenty-four  inches. 
It  is  lithe  and  graceful  in  form.     While  in  the  sea  the  back 

1  Reprinted  from  "The  Atlantic  Monthly  "  for  August,  1916,  by  special 
permission  of  the  editors. 

2  What  is  here  set  forth  is  based  upon  official  reports  of  the  careful  and 
searching  investigations  as  to  the  life-history  of  the  sockeye,  made  by  such 
men  as  Dr.  C.  H.  Gilbert  of  Stanford  University  and  Mr.  J.  P.  Babcock, 
Assistant  Commissioner  of  Fisheries  for  British  Columbia,  and  upon  such 
observations  as  the  writer  has  been  enabled  to  make.  —  The  Author. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  85 

and  upper  portions  of  its  sides  are  of  dark,  metallic  blue ; 
it  is  silvery-white  beneath.  When  the  fish  enter  the  fresh 
water  the  colors  dim ;  later  the  back  becomes  suffused  with 
a  reddish  hue.  Throughout  the  journey  to  the  spawning- 
ground  the  sockeye  never  breaks  its  fast.  And  this  journey 
(up  the  Yukon,  for  instance)  may  involve  a  swim  for  some 
fifteen  hundred  miles  against  a  swift  and  turbulent  current, 
the  temperature  of  which  is  but  little  above  freezing-point. 
The  range  of  the  sockeye  is  from  Northern  Alaska  to  the 
Columbia  River. 

The  beginnings  of  this  creature's  life  are  well  known. 
From  the  embryonic  stage  to  the  end  of  approximately  the 
first  year  of  its  existence  as  a  free-swimming  "  fingerling"  in 
one  of  those  crystal-clear  lakes  with  which  the  northwestern 
part  of  America  is  so  richly  dappled,  the  nature  and  habits 
of  the  sockeye  have  been  carefully  observed  and  studied. 
But  in  late  spring  or  early  summer  the  young  fish  disappear 
into  "  the  unplumbed,  salt,  estranging  sea  "  —  and  of  their 
life  therein  for  upwards  of  two  and  a  half  years,  there  is 
literally  no  record.  No  sockeye  between  the  fingerling  and 
the  adult  stages  has  ever  been  captured.  In  early  summer, 
just  before  the  run  inland,  adult  sockeye  have  been  taken 
in  purse-nets  on  the  Swiftsure  Bank,  just  outside  the  Strait 
of  Juan  de  Fuca.  Fragments  of  their  meat,  mixed  with  those 
of  other  fish,  have  been  found  in  the  stomachs  of  sea-lions 
killed  farther  north  at  the  same  season.  The  netted  speci- 
mens revealed  that  the  sockeye  feeds  upon  a  small  crustacean 
and  upon  a  form  of  Ammodytes,  or  sea-lance.  But  no  sock- 
eye has  ever  been  known  to  take  a  bait. 

The  average  four-years'  life  of  this  fish  falls,  therefore, 
into  three  periods,  two  of  which  are  known  and  one  unknown. 
This  rule  has  exceptions.  A  few  individuals,  almost  ex- 
clusively males,  mature  in  three  years  and  come  in  with  the 
adult  run.     These  are  the  so-called  grilse.     A  few  others 


86  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

remain  for  two  years  in  the  lake  before  migrating  to  the 
ocean.  In  the  case  of  the  Fraser  River  sockeye  a  curious 
fact  has  been  observed  —  every  fourth  year  an  enormous 
run  takes  place.  The  last  occurred  in  1913.  No  such  phe- 
nomenon has  been  observed  in  respect  of  the  other  spawning 
areas. 

II 

The  approximate  year  having  been  spent  in  a  fresh-water 
lake,  the  frail  atom  of  a  fish  has  grown  to  a  length  of  from 
two  to  three  inches.  Some  time  between  March  and  June, 
instinct  prompts  it  to  start  on  the  perilous  journey  to  the  sea. 
This  journey  may  take  only  a  few  uneventful  days ;  on  the 
other  hand,  it  may  involve  traveling  a  thousand  miles  to 
some  misty  fjord  where  a  brown  spate,  flung  by  melted 
snow  from  the  Rocky  Mountains,  clashes  with  a  brimming 
tide  at  the  full  of  the  moon.  The  little  creature  —  so  soft 
of  texture,  with  its  large,  soft,  apprehensive  eye  —  has  to 
run  the  gauntlet  of  numerous  enemies.  It  is  flung  down 
foaming,  vertical  cascades ;  it  is  swept  into  shouting  rapids 
combed  by  fang-like  rocks.  At  the  stream's  mouth  it  is 
met  by  new  dangers ;  fresh  and  menacing  problems  are 
found  at  every  turn.  There  is  the  sudden  transition  from 
fresh  to  salt  water,  involving  chemical,  dynamic,  and  respira- 
tory changes.  There  are  fierce  enemies,  openly  ravaging, 
and  stealthy  murderers  with  ingenious  lures  and  devices 
in  operation,  lurking  in  every  nook  where  shelter  might  be 
sought.  Yet  it  miraculously  adapts  itself  and  survives,  — 
to  disappear  from  human  ken  in  the  mystery  of  the  illimita- 
ble sea,  —  until  it  reappears,  adult,  some  three-and-thirty 
months  later. 

It  is  about  midsummer  —  although  the  time  varies  slightly 
according  to  locality  and  individual  season  —  when  the  sea 
gives  up  these  mysterious  denizens,  the  adult  sockeye,  which 


ILLUSTRATIONS  87 

entered  it  as  fingerlings  three  seasons  previously.  From  far 
and  near  the  schools  crowd  in  and  assemble  before  those 
lone  and  misty  gateways  through  which  the  Pacific  rollers 
smoke  and  thunder.  The  southeast  limit  of  Vancouver 
Island  is  approximately  four  hundred  miles  from  Prince 
Rupert,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Skeena  River;  but  the  inter- 
vening coast  is  much  broken  and  indented  —  probably  more 
so  than  that  of  any  other  with  the  exception  of  Norway.  It 
is  said  that  if  the  coast-line  of  every  island,  promontory, 
and  indentation  on  the  British  Columbian  coast  were  to  be 
followed,  a  journey  of  twenty-seven  thousand  miles  would 
be  involved.  This  is  irrespective  of  the  immense  and  con- 
voluted expanse  of  the  Alaskan  coast,  which  also  lies  within 
the  sockeye  range.  Practically  every  indentation  on  the 
coast  north  of  the  Columbia  has  its  stream,  and  —  here  lies 
the  greatest  marvel  —  every  stream  suitable  for  spawning 
appears  to  have  its  separate  frequenting  pack.  It  has,  in 
fact,  been  practically  determined  that  the  sockeye  will  spawn 
only  where  it  has  been  spawned. 

After  having  digested  their  last  meal  —  for  at  this  period 
the  stomach  of  the  sockeye  is  invariably  found  to  be  empty 
—  the  fish  leave  the  salt  water  and,  entering  the  gates  through 
which  they  emerged,  make  for  their  respective  spawning- 
grounds.  These  lie  on  the  shallow  margins  of  lakes  or,  pre- 
ferably, on  the  margins  of  streams  by  which  the  lakes  are 
fed.  Enemies  of  many  kinds  beset  the  sockeye's  course. 
North  of  smoky  Quatsino  Sound  the  predatory  legions  of 
sea-lions  and  hair-seals  lie  waiting  for  their  easy  harvest. 
Of  the  former  there  are  believed  to  be  over  11,000  within  the 
compass  of  a  small  triangle  north  of  Vancouver  Island.  A 
full-grown  sea-lion  weighs  upwards  of  a  ton.  The  havoc 
wrought  by  these  creatures  among  the  sockeye  and  other 
fish  may  thus  be  imagined. 

The   European   fishermen   with  varied   scientific   devices 


88  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

crowd  the  areas  where  the  salmon  assemble  from  the  sea.  It 
is  computed  that  in  the  area  including  Georgia  and  Juan  de 
Fuca  Straits  and  Puget  Sound,  33,000,000  salmon  were 
taken  from  the  sea  in  the  1913  season.  All  along  the  river- 
banks  the  Indians  stand  with  their  scoop-nets,  lifting  out 
fish  at  the  rate  of  hundreds  a  day.  Below  each  rocky  bar 
over  which  the  fish  have  to  leap,  the  wearied  wayfarers  lie 
resting  —  gaining  strength  for  the  effort.  If  the  obstacle 
to  be  surmounted  should  be  one  of  those  cascades  whose 
course  is  over  sharp  rocks  standing  in  foaming,  swirling  ed- 
dies through  which  contending  currents  are  flung,  a  large 
number  of  fish  may  be  injured,  and  in  the  pool  below  are 
assembled  a  sorry  company  of  the  halt  and  the  maimed  — 
many  with  their  sides  cruelly  gashed.  Every  now  and 
then  one  notes  a  gleam  of  silver  on  the  surface  —  and  a  dead 
fish  floats  away  downstream.  Perhaps  one  of  the  gorged 
fish-eagles  may  swoop  down  and  seize  the  carcass ;  oftener 
it  will  be  swept  unregarded  away. 

The  number  of  salmon  crowding  into  a  stream  when  the 
run  is  heavy  is  almost  incredible ;  occasionally  they  lie  so 
densely  packed  that  it  seems  almost  as  though  one  could 
walk  from  bank  to  bank  on  the  mass.  In  the  big  Fraser 
run  of  191 3  many  millions  of  fish  were  sacrificed  owing  to 
a  landslide  at  Hell's  Gate,  near  Yale.  This  narrowed  the 
channel  and  increased  the  speed  of  the  current  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  fish  could  not  surmount  it.  They  lingered, 
exhausted,  for  days  below  the  rapid  ;  then  they  floated  down- 
stream, died,  and  were  borne  as  carrion  toward  the  sea. 
Below  Hell's  Gate  are  good  spawning-grounds,  to  be  reached 
via  the  Harrison,  Lilloet,  and  Pitt  tributaries ;  but  rather 
than  spawn  at  any  other  spot  than  that  where  they  them- 
selves had  been  spawned,  the  fish  forewent  the  great  purpose 
of  their  lives. 

The  evidence  in  favor  of  the  view  that  the  sockeye  will 


ILLUSTRATIONS  89 

spawn  only  at  their  birthplace  is  overwhelming.  Anderson 
and  Nahmint  lakes  in  Vancouver  Island  lie  less  than  two 
miles  apart.  The  vent-streams  from  both  run  to  Barkley 
Sound.  Both  lakes  are  fed  from  the  same  snow-  and  rain- 
fall;  both  lie  embowered  in  cedar,  hemlock,  and  pine; 
on  both  the  same  sky  looks  down  between  mountains  of 
similar  geology.  Yet  Dr.  Gilbert  will  distinguish  between 
a  sockeye  taken  in  Anderson  Lake  and  one  taken  in  Nah- 
mint. It  may  be  by  the  shape  or  size  of  the  scale,  the  form 
of  a  fin,  the  angle  of  the  jaw,  or,  if  the  specimen  be  a  female, 
by  the  size  of  the  ovum.  But  the  distinctive  peculiarity 
will  be  there,  and  will  be  found  constant  in  every  specimen 
examined.  It  is  quite  possible  that  with  a  little  further 
knowledge,  it  will  be  practicable  to  determine,  not  only  the 
lake  in  which  a  given  fish  has  spent  the  first  year  of  its  life, 
but  the  tributary  streamlet  on  the  gravel  of  which  the  ovum 
that  gave  it  life  was  spawned. 

That  this  habit  will  in  course  of  time  give  rise  to  different 
races,  and  eventually  to  different  species,  is  a  fair  inference. 
That  the  process  is  now  going  on  is  clear  from  the  circum- 
stance that  already  racial  strains  are  arising.  For  instance, 
a  sockeye  of  very  large  size  has  been  found  at  Yes  Bay  in 
Southern  Alaska.  A  number  of  eggs  of  this  variety  have 
been  laid  in  a  lake  down  in  Vancouver  Island  and  another 
in  the  State  of  Washington.  All  this  involves  an  astound- 
ing proposition,  but  one  which,  on  the  evidence,  we  can- 
not avoid  accepting. 

To  what  may  we  attribute  this  inevitable  determination 
of  the  sockeye  to  return  for  the  purpose  of  spawning —  and 
then  incontinently  dying — at  the  spot  where  it  was  spawned  ? 
Is  it  to  a  blind,  compelling  instinct  void  of  conscious  thought, 
such  as  characterizes  so  many  of  the  marvelous  operations 
of  the  honey  bee;  or  is  it  a  passionate  love  on  the  part  of 
the    fish    for    its    birthplace  —  an    overwhelming    desire    to 


90  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

revisit  and  end  its  life  in  the  beautiful  spot  where  life  and 
light  first  dawned  upon  it?  For  all  the  spots  where  the 
salmon  spawn  are  beautiful.  Is  it  perchance  what  Schopen- 
hauer, in  connection  with  higher  animals,  termed  "  the  genius 
of  the  genus  "  working  through  the  mind  of  each  individual, 
urging  it  to  forge  the  link  of  continuance  between  the  gen- 
erations in  a  perfect  circle,  ending  where  it  began  —  spend- 
ing the  strength  it  amassed  amid  the  rich  pastures  of  the  ocean 
in  striving  for  a  goal  which  has  been  an  ever-present  dream  ? 
The  evidence  is,  one  may  think,  in  favor  of  an  intellectual 
rather  than  an  instinctive  process.  Place  twenty  bees  in 
an  uncorked  bottle  of  clear  glass,  and  set  the  bottle  on  its 
side  with  the  closed  end  in  sunlight  and  the  open  end  in 
shadow.  The  bees  will  die  of  exhaustion  after  vain  struggles 
to  penetrate  the  glass,  but  they  will  never  attempt  to  escape 
through  the  open  vent.  Their  instinct  is  based  on  a  long 
racial  experience  that  light  indicates  an  opening,  and  their 
intellect  is  incapable  of  leaving  the  rut  thus  formed.  But  if 
a  salmon-run  be  obstructed,  the  fish  will  diligently  and 
intelligently  seek  in  every  possible  direction  for  a  passage. 
Moreover,  they  will  at  once  make  use  of  a  fish-ladder  or  other 
arrangement  placed  for  their  convenience.  If,  owing  to 
heavy  rain,  a  river  becomes  swollen,  and  a  fall,  passable  at 
ordinary  times,  becomes  impassable,  the  sockeye  will  wait 
patiently  in  the  pool  below  until  the  spate  has  gone  by,  and 
then  resume  the  interrupted  journey.  Among  bees,  so 
far  as  can  be  observed,  individual  preferences  are  unknown ; 
the  individual  is  nothing;  the  dominant  note  of  the  bee's 
life  is  a  passionate  devotion  to  the  commonwealth,  mani- 
fested upon  rigidly  fixed  lines.  But  the  salmon  have  in- 
dividual preferences ;  male  and  female  mate  together,  and 
in  their  mating  they  exhibit  jealousy  and  other  character- 
istics which  link  them  with  the  higher  animals  —  and  even 
with  human  beings. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  91 

It  must,  one  thinks,  be  a  fixed  idea  —  a  memory-visualiza- 
tion which  guides  them.  Do  these  creatures,  throughout  the 
course  of  their  perhaps  worldwide  wanderings  during  nearly 
three  mystery-shrouded  years,  dream  of  the  little  submerged 
cairn  of  purple  gravel  over  which  the  crystal  water  lapped 
and  murmured  —  that  cairn  among  the  interstices  of  which 
they  found  safe  refuge  from  watchful,  ravening  foes,  from 
the  greedy  trout  and  their  own  hungry  kin  of  a  previous 
generation  ?  Do  they  dream  of  the  sombre,  stately  cedars 
growing  from  the  edge  of  the  stream ;  of  the  rugged  pines 
festooned  with  sage-green  Usnea  moss ;  of  the  lace-like 
fronds  of  the  hemlock  and  the  swaying  fingers  of  the  maple  ? 
These  trees  stand,  dreaming,  between  the  sky  and  the  mur- 
muring water.  Do  the  tired  wanderers  long  for  those  fleet- 
ing glimpses  of  the  folded  hills,  —  perchance  backed  by 
sunlit,  snowy  peaks,  —  glimpses  had  when  they  sprang, 
playing,  into  the  air  at  sunrise  ?  Does  the  lure  perhaps  lie 
in  the  miraculous  clearness  of  the  peaceful  water  —  a  clear- 
ness so  startling  that  its  realization  comes  as  a  shock  to  the 
observer  ?  One  cannot  tell  what  it  is,  but  the  lure  is  there ; 
the  magnet  that  draws  the  doomed  creatures  from  the  most 
distant  and  secret  places  of  the  sea,  over  stunning  obstacles, 
by  a  memory  strand  so  strong  that  only  death  can  break  it. 
And  the  most  significant  circumstance  is  that  these  salmon 
forego  the  purposed  culmination  of  their  tragic  life  —  the 
fulfillment  of  the  love-instinct  and  the  consequent  con- 
tinuance of  the  species  —  when  they  fail  to  reach  the  shrine 
desired  for  its  consummation. 

At  length,  all  difficulties  surmounted,  the  goal  is  reached ; 
perhaps  one  in  ten,  one  in  fifty,  of  those  who  as  fingerlings 
ventured  to  the  sea  three  seasons  previously,  may  have  es- 
caped their  legion  of  foes  and  surmounted  the  obstacles  of 
their  difficult  path.  The  wanderers  have  returned  to  their 
native  lake  —  to  the  placid  sky-mirror  in  its  frame  of  sombre 


92  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

green  hills,  or  stark,  snow-encumbered  mountains,  which 
they  have  never  forgotten.  But  the  perils  are  not  at  an 
end.  In  the  central  waters  of  the  lake,  in  the  larger  pools 
of  its  tributary  streams,  safety  is  to  be  found,  but  spawning 
has  to  be  effected  on  the  margins  —  in  water  but  a  few  inches 
deep  —  and  close  to  these  margins  watchful  enemies  lie 
ambushed.  If  the  lake  lie  near  the  ocean,  the  fish  arrive 
in  fair  condition ;  they  even  appear  to  experience  something 
of  the  joy  of  life ;  one  may  watch  them  leaping  from  the 
deeper  pools  of  the  tributary  streams  ;  occasionally  from  the 
lake  itself.  But  if  the  latter  lie  very  far  inland,  the  effects 
of  weariness  and  the  long  fast  become  apparent;  the  fish 
take  on  a  gaunt  and  haggard  look.  In  the  male  the  upper 
jaw  undergoes  a  marked  change :  that  portion  immediately 
behind  the  snout  becomes  depressed,  the  forward  portion 
curves  almost  into  a  hook.  This  gives  the  fish  a  most  sin- 
ister expression. 

After  a  few  days'  rest  the  process  of  spawning  begins,  and, 
under  the  veritable  shadow  of  the  wing  of  Death,  —  in  a 
furnace,  as  it  were,  of  terror  and  pain,  —  the  link  joining 
past  with  future  generations  is  forged ;  the  perfect  circle 
is  completed. 

Ill 

The  sockeye  have  now  almost  reached  the  final  stage  of 
their  long  travail.  The  supreme  and  most  fatal  sacrifice 
has  yet  to  come  —  the  immolation  of  a  generation  upon  the 
cold  and  thankless  altar  of  the  Future.  But  there  inter- 
venes a  period  of  rest,  —  of  cessation  from  persecution,  — 
a  few  score  hours  of  luxurious,  almost  effortless  gliding  to 
and  fro  beneath  the  placid  surface  of  the  liquid  mirror  into 
which  the  inconstant  sky  glances  as  it  is  borne  past  by  the 
circling  earth.  Beneath  this  surface  the  water  is  literally 
as  limpid  as  the  untroubled  atmosphere  which  lies  so  lightly 


ILLUSTRATIONS  93 

upon  it.  Midsummer  is  now  gliding  imperceptibly  into 
the  fall.  The  days  are  long  and  dreamful ;  the  winds  are 
hushed;  the  sky  is  unmarred,  its  blue  unflecked  save  by  oc- 
casional drifts  of  fleecy  vapor  —  immaculate  flocks  born  of 
snow  which  has  melted  on  distant  peaks,  straying  over  the 
rare,  pellucid  pastures  of  the  upper  atmosphere.  The  shriek- 
ing tempest  and  the  blinding  snowfall  have  been  —  and  will 
again  be  —  in  some  distant  and  incredible  future. 

The  days  are  sultry,  and  the  nights  are  mild.  The  water 
is  warm  and  delicious ;  nevertheless,  it  is  fatally  charged 
with  the  germs  of  a  terrible  disease,  —  with  the  spores  of  the 
Saprolegnia,  that  foul  fungoid  which  will  inevitably  attack 
and  destroy  the  debilitated  fish  when  they  have  reached 
their  final  stage  of  exhaustion  after  the  strenuous  spawning 
effort.  But  in  the  meantime,  in  those  lakes  around  which 
the  shallow  spawning  ledges  lie,  there  is  little  to  suggest 
danger  or  death.  It  is  true  that  the  fish-eagles,  having  fol- 
lowed the  run  from  the  sea,  perch  expectantly  upon  the  tall, 
gaunt  stumps  —  those  sinister  reminders  of  long-past  forest 
fires  which,  like  skeletons  at  the  feast,  are  seldom  out  of  sight 
even  in  the  most  luxuriant  of  the  forests  of  Northwestern 
America.  Behind  the  inevitable  rampart  of  dead  logs  — 
usually  invisible  owing  to  dense  undergrowth  —  lurk  bears, 
grizzly  or  black  according  to  locality.  These  wait  sulkily 
for  the  final  holocaust.  They  sleep  most  of  the  time,  their 
dreams,  no  doubt,  being  full  of  gustatory  reminiscence  and 
anticipation.  Their  taloned  paws  are  pressed  against  their 
temporarily  depleted  paunches ;  it  is  not  likely  they  will 
be  disturbed,  for  their  lairs  have  been  cunningly  chosen. 
Many  of  them  have  followed  the  pack  from  the  coast,  gorging 
luxuriously  at  each  obstruction,  going  empty  when  the  course 
was  clear.  But  their  final  and  most  Gargantuan  feast  is 
now  nearly  at  hand.  The  restless  coyotes  slink  in  and  out 
of  the  thickets,  hollow-flanked  and  impatient. 


94  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

But  in  the  meantime  the  fish  are  out  of  danger  and  at 
peace.  There  are  exceptions  to  this  rule.  If  the  run  be 
a  great  one  there  is  considerable  competition  for  the  avail- 
able gravel-beds ;  consequently  the  sockeye  set  to  work 
preempting  spawning-sites  immediately  upon  arrival.  At 
night  the  drumming  of  the  ruffed  grouse  may  fill  a  steep 
gorge  with  miniature  thunder.  Occasionally  the  long- 
drawn  howl  of  a  timber-wolf  or  the  gulping  snarl  of  a  panther, 
as  it  tears  at  the  throat  of  a  slain  deer,  makes  weird  the  night. 
But  such  sounds  are  rare ;  the  North  American  forest  is 
usually  as  silent  as  the  grave. 

However,  under  the  surface  of  the  lake  is  peace,  utter 
and  profound ;  and,  for  the  moment,  safety.  Dawn  sends 
its  spell  across  the  dreaming  forest,  dappling  its  darkness 
with  softly-paling  shades.  As  the  light  grows,  each  tall 
fellowship  of  firs  stands  forth  in  sombre  relief.  The  nearer 
comes  the  sun,  the  darker  grows  the  forest.  The  surface 
of  the  lake  is  like  glass  —  except  where  broken  here  and 
there  by  a  leaping  trout.  A  piercing  ray  of  light  thrills 
like  an  arrow  through  the  trees  cresting  the  eastern  horizon. 
Then  the  timid  dawn  flies  westward,  and  morning,  trium- 
phant, reigns.  The  slow  hours  trail  on  to  noon  —  to  after- 
noon —  in  sultry  procession,  until  evening  essays  to  repro- 
duce the  rapture  of  daybreak,  but  fails  for  lack  of  mystery. 

And  what  of  the  sockeye  during  those  halcyon  hours  ? 
One  does  not  know;  yet  one  may  reasonably  believe  they 
enjoy  a  measure  of  content  —  even  of  happiness.  May  it 
not  be  that  during  this  interval  they  seek  their  affinities  — 
those  mates  in  conjunction  with  whom  the  final  and  fatal 
mystery  of  their  love's  consummation  may  be  fulfilled  ? 
That  they  do  select  their  mates  is  certain  ;  it  is  also  certain, 
as  will  be  shown,  that  the  process  of  selection  is  marred  by 
disharmonies  and  cruelties  very  similar  to  those  which  so 
often  disfigure  the  sex-relations  of  human  beings. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  95 

But  may  we  not  at  least  infer  the  sockeye's  enjoyment  of 
the  sense  of  having  triumphed  over  enormous  difficulties 
and  escaped  frightful  dangers  —  their  realization  of  the  de- 
sirous dream  which  was  ever  present  during  their  long, 
eventful  wanderings  ?  Here  is  the  region  where  they  first 
swam  freely  —  breathing  and,  by  the  same  operation,  feed- 
ing upon  those  microscopic  organisms  with  which  stepmother 
Nature  had  filled  the  limpid  waters  for  their  first  nourish- 
ment. Here,  by  the  constant  discipline  of  escape  from  the 
Steelhead  trout  and  their  own  aberrant  kin  who  decided  to 
spend  a  second,  or  even  a  third,  year  in  the  lake,  they  had 
braced  and  schooled  themselves  for  tremendous  achievements. 
Here  Nature,  in  the  guise  of  "  the  genius  of  the  genus,"  had 
broken  the  cells  of  the  germ-plasm  with  which  their  tiny 
brains  were  charged,  and  revealed  to  them  —  by  the  pro- 
cess we  name  instinctive  —  the  tremendous  purpose  of  their 
mysterious  existence. 

Nature  has  strange  and  often  unthought-of  methods  of 
adjusting  balances.  May  it  not  be  that  the  happiness, 
the  bliss  realized  by  these  creatures  as  they  lie  wrapped  in 
the  mild  waters  of  their  natal  lake  is  deep  and  searching 
enough  to  compensate  for  all  they  have  endured  ?  May  it 
not  be  that  if  only  one  in  a  hundred  —  one  in  a  thousand  — 
realizes  it,  the  hundredth  or  thousandth  chance  of  realiza- 
tion may  be  sufficient  recompense  ?  "  Many  are  called,  but 
few  are  chosen,"  was  said  by  the  Christ  of  men  and  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven ;  and  the  God  of  Israel  was  justified  in  that 
terrible  saying.  May  not  the  same  be  true  of  fishes  —  their 
travail  in  the  Great  Waters  and  their  short  interval  of  bliss- 
ful peace  in  the  Delectable  Lakes  ?  But  who  shall  dare  to 
justify  the  majestic,  terrible,  and  blood-stained  steps  of  that 
awful  entity  we  term  Nature  ? 

The  final  act,  the  spawning,  begins.  The  female  sockeye 
selects  a  gravelly  spot,  usually  near  the  margin  of  some 


96  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

tributary  stream  —  a  spot  over  which  water,  to  the  depth 
of  some  three  or  four  inches,  flows.  Her  chosen  mate 
follows  and  watches  her  actions  with  anxious  attention. 
The  fish  have  now  markedly  changed  their  color :  the 
clean  metallic  blue  has  given  place  to  a  hectic  flush  of  red. 
The  female  lies  sideways  on  the  gravel,  with  her  head 
upstream.  Then  she  bends  her  body  and  immediately 
again  straightens  it  with  a  quivering  jerk.  This  displaces 
the  gravel  over  an  area  about  equal  in  extent  to  the  palm 
of  one's  hand,  and  causes  a  slight  hollow.  The  displaced 
gravel  is  pushed  downstream  and  thus  forms  a  hillock 
below  the  hollow.  The  fish  then  rubs  her  abdomen  side- 
ways and  with  a  quivering  motion  on  the  lower  edge  of 
the  hollow  and  close  to  the  upper  base  of  the  hillock,  emitting 
the  ova  as  she  does  so.  During  the  operation  the  hillock 
grows  by  accretion  of  the  disturbed  pebbles.  The  male  fish 
is  at  hand ;  he  expresses  the  milt  in  the  same  manner  in 
which  the  female  expresses  the  eggs.  The  milt  has  to  reach 
the  eggs  within  two  minutes  and  twenty  seconds  of  their 
emission ;    otherwise  fertilization  does  not  take  place. 

The  eggs  are  carried  by  the  milt-laden  stream  into  the  in- 
terstices of  the  hillock.  The  fish  resulting  from  those  eggs 
which  remain  exposed  die  within  a  few  days  after  they  have 
been  hatched.  Even  if  they  escape  the  host  of  greedy 
enemies  lying  in  wait  for  them,  they  become  infected  fatally 
in  the  region  of  the  umbilical  sac  by  the  Saprolegnia  fungus. 
It  is  still  unexplained  why  the  fry  hatched  out  among  the 
stones  of  the  hillock  are  not  attacked.  Possibly  the  spores 
of  the  Saprolegnia  cannot  live  in  darkness ;  possibly  some 
antidote-parasite  exists  which  is  ineffective  in  light.  Herein 
lies  an  interesting  subject  for  investigation. 

The  expression  of  the  ova  as  well  as  that  of  the  milt  is  a 
purely  mechanical  operation,  for  the  sockeye  has  no  muscu- 
lar apparatus  to  assist  in  the  process  of  voiding.     It  is  solely 


ILLUSTRATIONS  97 

through  the  bending  of  the  body,  the  quivering  jerk,  and 
the  rubbing  on  the  pebbles  that  the  expression  is  effected. 
The  female  normally  contains  some  five  thousand  eggs. 
About  four  days  are  consumed  in  the  work  of  expressing. 
By  that  time  the  abdomen  of  the  fish  is  usually  raw  and 
void  of  scales  in  the  vicinity  of  the  vent. 

Herein  is  manifested  one  of  Nature's  energy-saving  de- 
vices. If  the  sockeye  were  furnished  with  the  usual  ex- 
pressing apparatus,  it  would  not  have  to  jerk  and  struggle; 
thus  the  hillock  would  not  be  formed,  and  some  round- 
about way  of  eluding  the  Saprolegnia  spores  and  other  en- 
emies would  have  to  be  devised.  So  Nature  withheld 
from  a  highly  specialized  creature  an  organ  proper  to  its 
rank  in  the  zoological  scale  —  forcing  it  to  descend  from  the 
heights  of  specialization  and  perform  a  lowly,  rudimentary 
action.  It  is  almost  as  though  the  commander-in-chief  of 
an  army  were  set  to  the  work  of  digging  trenches. 

If  the  run  be  a  moderate  or  a  small  one,  each  female 
sockeye  insists  upon  having  a  considerable  space  free  around 
her  spawning  hillock,  and  will  energetically  attack  any  other 
female  venturing  into  her  vicinity.  But  if  the  run  be  large 
and  space  be  consequently  limited,  other  fish  may  spawn 
within  a  few  feet  and  no  objection  be  made.  Should  an- 
other female  attempt  to  appropriate  a  preempted  spot,  a 
fierce  combat  would  result. 

Sockeye  both  male  and  female  —  unattached,  unconven- 
tional beings  not  bound  by  the  accepted  ethical  rules  :  pis- 
catorial hcme-wreckers,  in  fact  —  are  apt  to  disturb  the 
harmony  of  the  spawning  grounds.  Some  female  fish, 
whose  symmetry  is  comparatively  unmarred  owing  to  a  suc- 
cession of  lucky  escapes,  and  who  consequently  has  most 
of  her  strength  in  reserve,  may  glide  in  and  try  to  appro- 
priate the  hillock  on  the  erection  of  which  some  matron-fish 
has  expended  almost  her  last  available  energy.     A  combat 

H 


98  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

will  inevitably  ensue ;  contrary  to  all  ethical  canons,  vic- 
tory will  most  likely  go  to  the  intruder.  The  male  fish  will 
not  interfere.  His  tail  fanning  just  enough  to  counteract 
the  pull  of  the  current,  he  will  impartially  watch  the  con- 
test. If  his  old  companion  be  driven  forth  to  a  lonely  death, 
he  will  impartially  mate  with  the  newcomer.  Again,  one 
may  observe  mateless  males  of  comparatively  superior 
physique  moving  about  over  the  spawning  grounds,  evidently 
on  the  lookout  for  mated  males  whose  physique  is  inferior. 
When  one  of  the  latter  is  found,  a  combat  —  which  may 
exhibit  great  savagery  —  will  follow.  In  such  cases  the  fe- 
male regards  the  situation  with  tranquil  unconcern.  Should 
the  male  originally  in  possession  be  vanquished,  he  will 
accept  the  inevitable  and  glide  tranquilly  to  his  death  — 
let  us  hope  a  euthanasia  —  in  the  profound  calm  of  the 
adjacent  waters,  while  his  wife  accepts  the  companionship 
of  the  victor  with  equanimity. 

The  foregoing  represents  ideal  spawning  conditions, 
which,  however,  do  not  as  a  rule  exist.  When  the  pack  ar- 
rives, the  carnivora  of  the  forest-covered  ranges  surround- 
ing the  lake  crowd  in  to  take  their  toll  of  the  hapless  sockeye. 
The  great  grizzly  bear  lumbers  over  the  gravel-beds,  and,  dis- 
playing unsuspected  quickness  with  his  murderously  taloned 
paws,  flicks  the  wearied  and  preoccupied  fish  high  and  dry 
into  the  undergrowth.  After  he  has  gorged  his  fill,  the  grizzly 
will  lay  up  treasure  (that  will  soon  smell  to  heaven)  for  the 
coming  weeks.  Twenty  to  thirty  fish  he  will  collect  into  a 
heap ;  over  these  he  will  pile  logs  and  rocks  so  large  and 
heavy  that,  even  remembering  the  strength  of  his  thews, 
one  wonders  at  his  ability  to  move  them  through  the  dense 
jungle.  The  black  bear  gorges  too,  but  apparently  accumu- 
lates no  store.  Nevertheless  he  becomes  fetid,  blear-eyed, 
unhealthy  generally,  and  filthy  in  his  habits.  Sometimes 
his  dulled  fur  falls  off  in  patches  until  his  once  silky  coat 


ILLUSTRATIONS  99 

suggests  that  of  a  mangy  dog.  The  coyote,  too,  gorges  to 
a  point  of  scandalous  obesity.  Every  creature  capable  of 
sustaining  its  life  upon  flesh  crowds  in  to  take  toll  of  the 
hapless  salmon. 

Spawning  over,  the  spent  and  exhausted  creatures  now 
mere  living  corpses,  —  distorted,  emaciated,  and  disfigured, 
—  cleave  their  slow  and  painful  way  back  to  the  deep  waters 
of  the  lake.  The  results  of  the  Saprolegnia  infection  now 
develop :  foul  festoons  —  the  bearers  of  spores  to  infect  the 
next  generation  of  sockeye  —  hang  from  lips,  eye-rims, 
gill-shields,  and  fins.  The  pairs  which  have  spawned  to- 
gether as  a  rule  maintain  their  companionship,  each  pair 
seeming  to  shun  the  society  of  others.  Their  movements 
become  slower,  stiffer.  This  existence  may  be  prolonged 
for  a  fortnight;  it  usually  continues  for  a  week.  Then 
comes  death.  For  a  brief  period,  the  poor,  disfigured  car- 
casses float  at  the  surface ;  then  they  sink  to  the  bottom, 
where  the  soft  tissues  undergo  swift  disintegration. 

The  hatching-period  of  the  sockeye  egg  varies  according 
to  the  temperature  of  the  water.  The  governing  principle 
has  been  ingeniously  worked  out  and  determined  by  Mr. 
Wallach,  of  the  United  States  Fisheries  Department.  It 
is  as  follows.  Take  freezing  point,  3 2°  Fahrenheit,  as  the 
basis.  Then  take  the  mean  temperature  of  the  water  on 
each  day,  starting  with  the  day  on  which  the  egg  was  ex- 
pressed, and  deduct  32  from  it.  As  soon  as  the  remainders 
reach  a  total  of  990,  the  egg  will  have  hatched. 

To  make  the  thing  quite  clear  the  following  table  is  given. 
Assume  that  on  the  day  of  spawning  and  the  four  subsequent 
days,  the  respective  mean  temperatures  read  as  follows : 
52,  55,  53,  60,  54. 

1st  day,  52  —  32  =  20 
2nd  day,  55  -  32  =  23 


IOO  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

3rd  day,  53  -  32  =  21 
4th  day,  60  —  32  =  28 
5th  day,  54  -  32  =  22 

and  so  on.  When  the  footing  of  the  third  column  reaches 
990,  the  egg  will  have  hatched.  The  little  fish  soon  becomes 
a  free  swimmer,  but  some  eight  weeks  pass  before  the  um- 
bilical sac  is  fully  absorbed.  Then  the  minute,  semitrans- 
parent  creature,  helpless,  except  for  the  instinct  that  prompts 
it  toward  concealment  from  ever-vigilant  enemies,  starts 
on  its  independent  career. 

And  what  of  that  atom  of  faintly  clouded  jelly  —  its 
brain  ?  Did  any  other  physical  substance  ever  bear  such 
a  tremendous  load  ?  Pictured  or  written  therein  is  the 
vast  and  varied  experience  of  the  whole  sockeye  race,  prob- 
ably dating  from  a  period  before  Vancouver  Island  emerged 
from  the  ocean,  when  the  highest  peaks  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains were  wave-washed  islands  (there  is  evidence  to  be  de- 
duced from  certain  habits  of  the  sockeye  that  this  is  the  case). 
In  that  receptacle  must  be  stored  records  of  millions  of  pre- 
cedents —  clues  for  guidance  through  a  life-embracing  laby- 
rinth of  dangers  and  difficulties.  It  contains  the  tragedy 
and  the  triumph  of  the  sockeye  race.  One's  mind  reels 
before  the  abyss. 

THE  CORONATION  OF  CHARLES  THE  GREAT1 

Charles  the  Great  in  800  a.d.  was  already  the  most  powerful  ruler  of  Eu- 
rope. The  coronation  here  described  added  nothing  definite  to  his  terri- 
tories, but  made  him  nominally  successor  to  the  ancient  Roman  emperors. 

'The  six  accounts  are  reprinted  from  Duncalf  and  Krey's  "Parallel 
Source  Problems "  by  special  permission  of  the  editors  and  of  the 
publishers,  Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers.  Copyright,  191 2,  by  Harper  & 
Brothers. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  IOI 

The  traditional  awe  with  which  the  northern  barbarians  had  viewed  the 
one,  undivided  world  empire  of  Rome  lasted  centuries  after  the  collapse  of 
her  power,  and  could  still  be  felt  toward  the  Frankish  king  who  —  by  how- 
ever empty  a  claim  —  now  became  titular  heir  to  the  Caesars.  For  this 
reason  the  coronation  was  a  historic  event.  It  conferred  on  Charlemagne 
no  new  lands,  but  gave  him  great  prestige  and  a  firmer  hold  on  the  popular 
imagination.  The  preceding  pope,  Hadrian  I,  had  been  disinclined  to  be- 
stow on  any  king  the  emperorship  or  "imperium."  However,  Pope  Leo 
III,  successor  to  Hadrian  in  795,  was  driven  by  the  attacks  of  his  enemies  to 
seek  help  from  Charles,  who  in  the  following  year  journeyed  to  Rome,  and 
was  crowned  emperor  ("imperator")  in  the  manner  here  set  forth. 

Of  the  six  following  accounts,  the  first  four  were  certainly,  and  the  fifth 
was  probably,  the  work  of  Charles's  contemporaries.  The  sixth  was  written 
nearly  a  century  after  the  coronation  that  it  describes.  The  "Annales 
Laurissenses,"  though  named  from  the  abbey  of  Lorsch,  were  probably  com- 
posed by  prominent  men  connected  with  Charles's  court,  closely  in  touch 
with  political  life  and  the  most  reliable  sources  of  information.  The  "  Annales 
Laurishamenses,"  also  named  from  the  abbey  of  Lorsch,  may  or  may  not 
have  been  written  there.  Their  style  and  matter  indicate  that  they  were 
the  work  of  intelligent  and  well  informed  men.  The  "Vita  Karoli"  (Life  of 
Charles)  is  a  biography  by  Einhard,  who  was  intimate  with  the  emperor 
and  one  of  the  foremost  historians  and  scholars  of  his  time.  Theophanis, 
the  author  of  the  "  Chronographia,"  was  a  prominent  Greek  writer,  living  in 
the  Eastern,  or  Byzantine  Empire.  He  was  thus  in  the  position  of  an  in- 
telligent foreigner,  discussing  a  contemporary  event  at  a  distance.  The 
"  Vita  Leonis  III  "  (Life  of  Leo  III)  is  from  the  "  Liber  Pontificalis  "  or  "  Book 
of  The  Popes,"  and  describes  the  coronation  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
Church,  which  might  not  always  agree  with  that  of  the  lay  historian.  "  De 
Gestis  Karoli "  (Concerning  the  Deeds  of  Charles),  by  the  Monk  of  St.  Gall, 
is  of  uncertain  authorship  and  was  written  between  884  and  887.  It  con- 
tains many  mythical  tales  about  Charlemagne,  some  of  which  were  local 
and  confined  to  the  region  of  Germany  around  St.  Gall. 

I 

The   Annales   Laurissenses    {the   Annals   of  Lorsch) 

.  .  .  And  in  the  beginning  of  the  month  of  August,  when  he 

[Charles]  reached   Mainz,    he    decided    to   journey  into 

Italy.     When  he  reached  Ravenna  with  his    army    he 

made  preparations  for  an  expedition  against  the  Beneven- 


102  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

tians.  After  a  delay  of  seven  days  Charles  started  for  Rome, 
having  ordered  his  son  Pepin  to  ravage  the  lands  of  the 
Beneventians  with  the  army.  As  he  approached  Rome, 
Pope  Leo,  accompanied  by  Romans,  met  him  at  Nomen- 
tum,  which  is  at  the  twelfth  milestone  from  the  city.  After 
greeting  him  with  the  greatest  humility  the  pope  dined  with 
him  at  this  town.  The  pope  then  returned  to  the  city, 
and  on  the  following  day  he  stationed  himself  on  the  steps 
of  the  basilica  of  the  blessed  apostle  Peter,  with  the  standard 
of  the  Roman  city,  and  crowds  of  pilgrims  and  citizens  ar- 
ranged and  disposed  in  suitable  places  to  shout  praises  to 
those  coming.  Leo  himself  with  the  clergy  and  bishops 
received  Charles  when  he  dismounted  from  his  horse  and 
ascended  the  steps.  When  an  oration  had  been  delivered, 
while  all  were  chanting  psalms,  the  king  was  led  into  the 
basilica  of  the  blessed  apostle  Peter.  This  happened  on 
the  eighth  day  before  the  Calends  of  December  (Novem- 
ber 24). 

Seven  days  later  the  king  began  to  busy  himself  with  the 
important  affairs  that  had  brought  him  and  all  his  men  to 
the  city  of  Rome,  and  thenceforth  daily  he  was  occupied  with 
these  matters.  The  first  and  most  difficult  of  these  tasks 
was  the  investigation  of  the  crimes  of  which  the  holy  pon- 
tiff had  been  accused.  As  no  one  wished  to  be  sponsor 
for  the  pope's  guilt,  Leo  ascended  to  the  altar  of  the  church 
of  the  apostle  Peter  in  the  presence  of  all  the  people,  with 
the  Evangel  in  his  hand,  and  by  oath,  in  the  name  of  the 
Holy  Trinity,  purged  himself  of  the  charges  which  had 
been  made  against  him. 

On  the  same  day  Zachary  returned  from  the  East  with 
two  monks,  whom  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem  had  sent 
back  with  him.1     One  of  them  was  from  the  Mount  of  Olives 

1  In  799  Charles  was  visited  by  a  monk  from  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem, 
who  brought  blessings  and  relics  from  the  Holy  Sepulcher.     On  Christmas 


ILLUSTRATIONS  103 

and  the  other  from  St.  Saba.  As  a  blessing  they  brought 
the  keys  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  of  Mount  Calvary,  also 
the  keys  of  the  city  and  of  the  Mount  (Zion)  and  a  banner. 
The  king  received  them  graciously,  and  kept  them  with 
him  many  days,  sending  them  away  in  April  with  gifts.  He 
celebrated  the  birthday  of  the  Lord  at  Rome.  And  the 
number  of  the  years  changed  into 

801. l 

On  the  most  sacred  birthday  of  the  Lord,  while  the  king 
was  at  mass,  and  just  as  he  was  rising  from  prayer  before  the 
grave  of  St.  Peter,  Pope  Leo  placed  the  crown  on  his  head, 
and  all  the  people  shouted  "Charles  Augustus,  crowned 
great  and  peace-giving  Imperator  of  the  Romans,  life  and 
victory!"  After  this  praise  he  was  saluted  by  the  apostle2 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  ancient  emperors.3  The 
title  Patrician  was  dropped,  and  he  was  called  Imperator 
and  Augustus.  After  a  few  days  he  ordered  the  men  who 
had  deposed  the  pontiff  the  preceding  year  to  be  brought 
before  him.  They  were  tried  according  to  the  Roman  law 
for  the  crime  of  treason,  and  were  condemned  to  death. 
The  pope  interceded  for  them,  and  life  and  the  integrity  of 
their  bodies   was   granted   to  them.     Some  of  them  were 

day  of  the  same  year  Charles  sent  back  a  priest,  Zachary,  with  gifts  for  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  and  other  sacred  spots  around  Jerusalem.  On  his  return 
one  year  later  Zachary  found  Charles  at  Rome. 

*The  year  did  not  always  begin  on  January  1st  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
In  the  present  case  Christmas  day  was  regarded  as  the  first  day  of  the  year, 
hence,  according  to  most  of  the  writers,  the  coronation  occurred  on  the  first 
day  of  the  year  801. 

2  The  pope. 

8  At  the  accession  of  a  new  emperor  to  the  throne  at  Constantinople,  an 
election  was  first  necessary.  This  election  was  made  by  the  senate,  with 
the  army  and  the  people  participating.  The  coronation  proper  was  a  re- 
ligious ceremony  in  which  the  patriarch  of  Constantinople  crowned  the  new 
emperor.     Compare  this  custom  with  that  followed  in  800. 


104  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

sent  into   exile   as    a    punishment   for    their    most    serious 

crime.  . .  . 

2 

The  Annales  Laurishamenses  l  {the  Annals  of  Lorsch) 
And  in  the  summer  he  [Charles]  called  together  his  lords 
and  nobles  at  the  city  of  Mainz.     When  he  had  assured 
himself  that  peace  reigned  throughout  all  his  dominions 
800    he  called  to  mind  the  injury  that  the  Romans  had  inflicted 
on  Pope  Leo,  and  setting  his  face  toward  Rome,  he  jour- 
neyed thither.     When  he  had  arrived  there  he  summoned 
a  great  council  of  bishops  and  abbots,  also  priests,  deacons, 
counts,  and  other  Christian  people.     Those  who  wished  to 
condemn  the  apostle  himself  were  brought  before  this  as- 
sembly.    When  the   king   had  made  investigation  he  was 
convinced  that  they  did  not  want  to  condemn  the  pope  with 
justice,  but  through  spite.     It  was  therefore  clear  to  the 
most  pious  prince,  Charles,  and  to  all  the  bishops  and  holy 
fathers  present,  that,  if  the  pope  wished  and  should  ask  it, 
he  ought  to  purify  himself  by  his  own  will,  voluntarily,  and 
not  by  the  judgment  of  the  council ;    and  this  was  done. 
When  he  had  taken  the  oath,  the  holy  bishops  and  all  the 
clergy,    Prince    Charles    and    the    devote    Christian    people 
began    the    hymn,    Te   Deum   laudamus,    te   Dominum   con- 
fitemur.     When  this  was  entirely  finished,  the  king  and  all 
the  faithful  people  with  him  gave  thanks  to  God,  who  had 
preserved  the  apostle  Leo  sound  in  body  and  mind.     And 
he  passed  the  winter  in  Rome. 

Inasmuch  as  the  title  of  Imperator  had  ceased  among  the 

Greeks  at  this  time  and  the  imperium  was  in  the  hands  of 

a  woman,2  it  was  evident  to  the  apostle  Leo  and  all  the 

800    holy  fathers  who  had  taken  part  in  the  council,  as  well  as 

1  Laurissenses  and  Laurishamenses  are  merely  different  ways  of  spelling 
the  Latin  name  for  Lorsch. 

1  Empress  Irene,  queen  of  Byzantium. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  105 

to  all  the  Christian  people,  that  Charles,  king  of  the  Franks, 
ought  to  be  called  Imperator.  For  he  held  the  city  of  Rome, 
where  the  Caesars  had  always  resided,  and  he  also  ruled  Italy, 
Gaul,  and  Germany  likewise.  Because  God  Almighty  had 
placed  all  these  countries  in  his  power  it  seemed  just  to  them 
that,  with  God  favoring  it  and  all  the  Christian  people  de- 
manding it,  he  should  have  the  title  itself.  King  Charles 
was  not  willing  to  refuse  this  demand,  but  with  all  humility, 
and  obedient  to  the  Lord  and  the  petition  of  the  clergy  and 
all  the  Christian  people,  on  the  very  day  of  the  nativity  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  he  was  consecrated  by  the  lord  pope 
Leo,  and  received  the  title  of  Imperator.  Then,  first  of  all 
he  restored  peace  and  concord  to  the  Holy  Roman  Church, 
and  he  celebrated  Easter  at  Rome.  When  summer  ap- 
proached he  directed  his  journey  to  Ravenna,  giving  justice 
and  restoring  order.  He  then  returned  to  his  palace  in 
France.  .  .  . 

3 
The  Vita  Karoli  {the  Life  of  Charles)  by  Einhard 

Although  he  [Charles]  regarded  Rome  highly,  during  all 
the  forty-seven  years  of  his  reign  he  went  to  the  city  only 
four  times  to  pay  his  vows  and  to  offer  his  prayers. 

This  was  not  the  only  reason  for  his  last  visit,  however. 
Indeed,  the  Romans  had  greatly  injured  Pope  Leo.  They 
tore  out  his  eyes  and  cut  off  his  tongue,  and  thus  he  was 
forced  to  ask  protection  from  the  king.  So  he  went  to  Rome 
to  improve  the  condition  of  the  Church,  which  was  greatly 
disturbed,  and  remained  there  the  entire  winter.  At  this 
time  he  received  the  titles  of  Imperator  and  Augustus,  which 
he  was  so  opposed  to  at  first  that  he  said  he  would  never 
have  entered  the  church  on  that  day,  although  it  was  a  very 
important  festival  of  the  Church,  if  he  had  known  the  in- 
tention of  the  pope.  Nevertheless,  having  accepted  the 
title,  he  endured  with  great  patience  the  jealousy  that  it 


106  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

caused,  for  the  Roman  emperors  were  very  indignant.  He 
overcame  their  pride  by  magnanimity,  in  which  he  doubt- 
less excelled  them,  and  by  sending  frequent  embassies  to 
them,  and  by  calling  them  brothers  in  his  letters.  .  .  . 

4 

The  Chronographia  {Annals)  of  Theophanis 

...  In  the  same  year  [801]  partisans  of  the  Roman  pope, 
Hadrian,  of  blessed  memory,  started  a  riot  against  Pope 
Leo  and  injured  his  eyesight.  The  men  who  were  selected 
to  put  out  his  eyes  were  moved  by  pity  and  spared  him,  so 
that  he  was  not  completely  blinded.  Leo  immediately  fled 
to  Charles,  king  of  the  Franks.  The  king  took  vengeance 
on  the  enemies  of  the  pope  and  restored  him  to  his  seat. 
Thus  at  this  time  Rome  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Franks  and 
continued  thus.  Leo  repaid  Charles  by  anointing  him  from 
head  to  foot  with  oil  in  the  church  of  the  blessed  apostle, 
and,  having  saluted  him  with  the  title  of  Imperator, 
he  crowned  him.  He  also  clothed  him  with  the  imperial 
robes  and  insignia.  This  happened  on  the  25th  day  of  the 
month  of  December,  in  the  ninth  indiction.1  .  .  . 


Vita  Leonis  III.  {Life  of  Leo  III.)  from  the  Liber 
Pontificalis 

...  A  few  days  after  [the  arrival  of  Leo  at  Rome],  the 
faithful  missi,2  who  had  returned  with  the  pope  to  Rome  in 

1  The  indiction  was  originally  a  period  of  fifteen  years,  at  the  close 
of  which  the  Roman  government  revived  its  tax  assessments.  Later  it 
was  used  to  reckon  time.  The  first  indiction  was  that  of  312  a.d.  The 
ninth  indiction  means  the  ninth  year  of  one  of  these  fifteen-year  periods, 
and  not  the  ninth  period.  According  to  the  Greek  calendar,  the  year  began 
on  September  1st,  so  that  Charles  was  crowned  in  the  year  801,  which  would 
make  it  the  ninth  year  of  that  indictional  period. 

2  The  missi  were  officials  of  the  Carolingian  kings,  of  which  the  famous 


ILLUSTRATIONS  •  1 07 

obedience  to  the  pontifical  desires  —  namely,  Hildebald 
and  Arno,  both  most  reverend  archbishops ;  Cunibert, 
Bernhard,  Otto,  and  Jesse,  most  reverend  and  holy  bishops ; 
also  Flaccus,  bishop-elect ;  and  Helingot,  Rothgar,  and 
Germar,  famous  counts.  They  were  entertained  at  the  table 
of  the  lord  pope  Leo,  and  were  examining  those  malicious 
offenders  for  more  than  a  week  to  discover  what  evidence 
they  might  have  against  the  pope.  Neither  Pascal  nor 
Campulus l  had  any  evidence  that  they  could  report,  and 
neither  did  their  accomplices  say  anything  against  him. 
So  the  aforementioned  mis  si  of  the  great  king  seized  the 
culprits  and  sent  them  into  France. 

After  a  time  the  great  king  joined  them  at  the  basilica  of 
the  blessed  apostle  Peter,  and  was  received  with  great  honor. 
He  called  a  council  of  the  archbishops,  the  bishops,  the  ab- 
bots, and  all  the  French  nobles,  as  well  as  the  prominent 
Romans  in  the  same  church.  The  great  king  as  well  as  the 
most  blessed  pontiff  were  seated,  likewise  they  made  the 
most  holy  archbishops  and  abbots  seat  themselves,  but  all 
the  other  priests  and  the  French  and  Roman  nobles  remained 
standing.  He  summoned  this  council  to  investigate  all  the 
charges  that  had  been  made  against  the  sanctity  of  the  pontiff. 
When  all  the  archbishops,  the  bishops,  and  the  abbots  heard 
this  they  said  :  "We  do  not  dare  to  judge  the  apostolic  see, 
which  is  the  head  of  all  the  churches  of  God,  for  we  are  all 
judged  by  it  and  its  vicar.  Furthermore,  it  should  be  judged 
by  no  one,  according  to  what  was  the  ancient  custom.  What- 
ever the  chief  pontiff  proposes  we  will  obey  canonically." 
The  venerable  chief  said :    "  I  follow  the  footsteps  of  the 

mis  si  dominici  were  a  special  type.  The  men  whose  names  are  given  were 
prominent  men  in  the  service  of  Charles,  who  were  sent  on  a  special  mission 
to  look  after  his  interests  at  Rome. 

1  Pascal  and  Campulus  were  the  leaders  of  the  conspiracy  and  attack 
that  was  made  on  Pope  Leo  in  799. 


108  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

pontiffs  who  were  my  predecessors.  I  am  ready  to  purify 
myself  of  such  false  charges  as  have  been  basely  made 
against  me." 

On  a  later  day  in  the  same  church  of  the  blessed  apostle 
Peter,  when  all  were  present  —  namely,  archbishops,  bishops, 
abbots,  all  the  Franks,  who  were  in  the  service  of  the  great 
king,  and  all  the  Romans,'  the  venerable  pontiff,  grasping 
the  four  Gospels  of  Christ,  mounted  to  the  altar  and  with 
a  clear  voice  took  the  oath  :  "Inasmuch  as  I  have  no  know- 
ledge of  these  false  crimes,  which  the  Romans,  who  have 
persecuted  me,  have  basely  charged  me  with,  I  say  that  I 
do  not  need  to  have  such  knowledge."  When  this  was  done 
litanies  were  chanted,  and  all  the  archbishops,  bishops,  ab- 
bots, and  all  the  clergy  gave  praise  to  God  and  to  the  Virgin 
Mary,  the  mother  of  God,  to  the  blessed  apostle  Peter,  chief 
of  the  apostles,  and  to  all  the  saints  of  God. 

On  the  natal  day  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  all  were  again 
gathered  together  in  the  same  basilica  of  the  blessed  apostle 
Peter,  and  there  the  venerable,  holy  pontiff  with  his  own 
hands  crowned  Charles  the  Great  with  a  crown  of  great 
value.  Then  all  the  faithful  Romans,  when  they  realized  how 
great  protection  and  care  the  Holy  Roman  Church  and  its 
vicar  would  have  because  of  this  act  which  had  the  favor  of 
God  and  the  blessed  Peter,  the  key-bearer  of  the  kingdom 
of  heaven,  unanimously  shouted  with  loud  voices,  "Charles, 
most  pious  Augustus,  crowned  great,  peace-giving  Im- 
perator  by  God,  life  and  victory!"  This  was  shouted  three 
times,  and  many  saints  were  invoked  before  the  grave  of  the 
blessed  apostle  Peter,  and  thus  by  all  he  was  made  Imperator 
of  the  Romans.  There  the  most  holy  bishop  and  pontiff 
anointed  Charles  with  the  sacred  oil,  also  his  most  excellent 
son  [Charles]  as  king,  on  the  birthday  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ. 

After  the  celebration  of  the  mass  the  most  serene  lord 


ILLUSTRATIONS  I09 

Imperator  presented  a  silver  table  weighing  .  .  .  pounds 
with  its  legs.  Likewise,  at  the  grave  of  the  apostle  of  God, 
the  Imperator  and  his  son,  the  king,  and  his  daughters  pre- 
sented various  vases  to  accompany  this  table,  all  of  pure  gold, 
weighing  .  .  .  pounds,  also  a  gold  crown  set  with  large 
gems,  to  be  hung  over  the  altar,  and  two  swords  weighing 
fifty-eight  pounds,  and  a  large  vessel  of  gold,  set  with  gems, 
.  .  .  [the  list  of  gifts  continues]. 

Afterward  those  iniquitous  malefactors  —  namely,  Pascal 
and  Campulus  —  and  their  associates  were  brought  into  the 
presence  of  the  most  pious  lord  Imperator,  with  all  the  noble 
Franks  and  Romans  standing  about.  All  were  indignant 
about  the  misdeeds  of  these  men.  Campulus  turned  to  Pas- 
cal and  said,  "It  was  an  evil  day  when  I  saw  your  face, 
for  you  are  to  blame  for  my  being  in  this  trouble."  And 
so,  each  condemning  the  other,  they  themselves  proved  their 
own  guilt.  When  the  lord  Imperator  realized  how  cruel 
and  iniquitous  they  were  he  sent  them  into  France. 


De  Gestis  Caroli  Magni  {The  Deeds  of  Charles  the  Great), 
by  the  Monk  of  St.  Gall 

Although  other  mortals  may  be  deceived  by  the  works  of 
the  devil  and  his  satellites,  it  is  fitting  to  meditate  on  the 
words  of  the  Lord  when  He  commended  the  brave  confes- 
sion of  Saint  Peter,  saying,  "Because  you  are  Peter,  I  will 
build  my  church  upon  this  rock,  and  the  gates  of  hell  shall 
not  prevail  against  it,"  for  even  in  these  evil  and  troubled 
days  the  Church  has  remained  firm  and  unshaken. 

Because  jealous  people  are  always  consumed  by  envy  it 
was  generally  customary  among  the  Romans  to  show  hostility 
and  even  to  fight  against  the  great  popes  who  were  elevated 
to  the  apostolic  seat.     Thus   it  happened   that  certain  of 


IIO  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

the  Romans  who  were  blinded  by  envy  accused  Leo,  of  holy 
memory,  whom  we  have  referred  to  above,  of  terrible  crimes. 
Moreover,  they  attacked  him  with  the  intention  of  blind- 
ing him,  but,  checked  and  restrained  by  the  divine  will, 
they  failed  to  tear  out  his  eyes,  although  they  did  cut  them 
across  the  middle  with  knives.  Secretly  the  pope  had  the 
news  of  this  sent  by  his  servants  to  Michael,  emperor  at  Con- 
stantinople, who  withheld  all  aid,  saying,  "The  pope  has  a 
kingdom  of  his  own,  higher  than  mine,  and  must  revenge  him- 
self on  his  own  enemies."  Then  the  holy  pope,  following 
the  divine  will,  summoned  to  Rome  the  unconquerable  Charles 
who  was  in  reality  ruler  of  many  peoples,  in  order  that  he 
might  gloriously  obtain  the  titles  of  Imperator,  Casar,  and 
Augustus  by  apostolic  authority. 

Charles,  who  was  always  engaged  in  campaigns  and  mili- 
tary affairs,  although  he  was  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  the  sum- 
mons, without  delay  came  with  all  his  warriors  and  fighting 
men  :  the  lord  of  the  world  came  to  the  capital  of  the  world. 
And  when  that  most  depraved  people  heard  of  his  unexpected 
arrival,  just  as  sparrows  hide  themselves  from  the  sight  of 
their  master  so  the  Romans  hid  in  various  hiding-places. 
But  they  were  not  able  to  escape  the  energy  and  sagacity  of 
Charles  under  heaven,  and  so  they  were  captured  and  led  into 
the  basilica  of  St.  Peter  in  chains.  There  the  undefiled  Father 
Leo  took  the  Evangel  and,  holding  it  over  his  head  before 
Charles  and  his  men,  with  his  persecutors  present,  took  the 
following  oath,  "On  the  great  judgment  day  may  I  enjoy 
the  fulfilment  of  the  promises  of  the  Gospel,  as  I  am  innocent 
of  the  charges  that  have  been  made  against  me."  Then 
the  terrible  Charles  said  to  his  men,  "Take  care  that  none 
of  them  escape."  All  were  seized  and  condemned  either  to 
different  kinds  of  death  or  to  perpetual  exile. 

As  Charles  remained  in  the  city  for  several  days  to  give 
his  army  a  necessary  rest  the  chief  of  the  apostolic  see  sum- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 1 1 

moned  all  who  would  come  from  the  surrounding  country 
to  Rome.  In  the  presence  of  all  these  people  and  the  in- 
vincible counts  of  the  most  glorious  Charles,  who  did  not 
suspect  anything,  the  pope  pronounced  him  Imperator  and 
Defender  of  the  Roman  Church.  Since  he  was  not  able  to 
refuse  the  title,  for  he  believed  that  he  had  received  it  by 
divine  favor,  nevertheless  he  did  not  receive  it  with  joy, 
because  he  believed  that  the  Greeks,  fired  by  greater  jealousy, 
would  lay  plots  against  the  kingdom  of  the  Franks,  or  at 
least  be  more  careful  to  make  all  necessary  preparations  to 
prevent  Charles  from  suddenly  coming  to  subjugate  their 
empire,  for  there  was  a  rumor  that  he  intended  to  do  this. 
For  on  a  former  occasion  when  the  legate  of  the  Byzantine 
king  visited  him,  and  had  told  him  that  his  master  wished 
to  be  a  faithful  friend,  and  that  if  they  were  only  not  sepa- 
rated from  each  other  by  so  great  a  distance,  that  he  would 
treat  Charles  as  a  son  and  relieve  his  poverty,  Charles, 
who  was  not  able  to  restrain  his  burning  spirit,  burst  forth, 
"Oh!  If  that  pool  were  not  between  us,  we  could  either 
divide  or  hold  together  in  common  the  wealth  of  the  East." 
Indeed,  the  Giver  and  Restorer  of  health  showed  his  be- 
lief in  the  innocence  of  the  blessed  Leo,  for  even  after  that 
cruel  wound  had  been  received  He  made  his  eyes  brighter 
than  they  were  before,  except  that  a  most  beautiful  scar 
remained  as  a  sign  of  virtue  to  decorate  his  eyelids,  very 
like  a  fine  thread  in  the  white  snow.  .  .  . 

ACCOUNTS  OF  THE  NAVAL  BATTLE  OF  JUTLAND l 

I 

The  first  German  Admiralty  report  of  the  battle  was 

issued  on  Thursday,  June  I,  and  reads  as  follows: 

1  Reprinted  from  "The  Current  History  Magazine"  of  "The  New  York 
Times"  (July,  August,  and  September  numbers  for  1916)  by  special  permis- 
sion of  the  editors. 


112  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Berlin,  June  I,  1916. 

During  an  enterprise  directed  to  the  northward  our  high  sea  fleet  on  May 
31  encountered  the  main  part  of  the  English  fighting  fleet,  which  was  con- 
siderably superior  to  our  forces. 

During  the  afternoon,  between  Skagerrak  and  Horn  Riff,  a  heavy  engage- 
ment developed,  which  was  successful  to  us,  and  which  continued  during 
the  whole  night. 

In  this  engagement,  so  far  as  known  up  to  the  present,  there  were  de- 
stroyed by  us  the  large  battleship  Warspite,  the  battle  cruisers  Queen  Mary 
and  Indefatigable,  two  armored  cruisers,  apparently  of  the  Achilles  type; 
one  small  cruiser,  the  new  flagships  of  destroyer  squadrons,  the  Turbulent, 
Nestor,  and  Alcaster,  a  large  number  of  torpedo-boat  destroyers,  and  one 
submarine. 

By  observation,  which  was  free  and  clear  of  objects,  it  was  stated  that  a 
large  number  of  English  battleships  suffered  damage  from  our  ships  and 
the  attacks  of  our  torpedo-boat  flotilla  during  the  day  engagement  and 
throughout  the  night.  Among  others,  the  large  battleship  Marlborough 
was  hit  by  a  torpedo.     This  was  confirmed  by  prisoners. 

Several  of  our  ships  rescued  parts  of  the  crews  of  the  sunken  English  ships, 
among  them  being  two  and  the  only  survivors  of  the  Indefatigable. 

On  our  side  the  small  cruiser  Wiesbaden,  by  hostile  gun  fire  during  the 
day  engagement,  and  his  Majesty's  ship  Pommern,  during  the  night,  as 
the  result  of  a  torpedo,  were  sunk. 

The  fate  of  his  Majesty's  ship  Frauenlob,  which  is  missing,  and  of  some 
torpedo  boats,  which  have  not  returned  yet,  is  unknown. 

The  High  Sea  Fleet  returned  to-day  (Thursday)  into  our  port. 

The  first  report  of  the  British  Admiralty  was  issued  a 
day  later,  and  is  as  follows  : 

London,  June  2,  1916. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Wednesday,  the  31st  of  May,  a  naval  engagement 
took  place  off  the  coast  of  Jutland. 

The  British  ships  on  which  the  brunt  of  the  fighting  fell  were  the  battle 
cruiser  fleet  and  some  cruisers  and  light  cruisers,  supported  by  four  fast 
battleships.     Among  these  the  losses  were  heavy. 

The  German  battle  fleet,  aided  by  low  visibility,  avoided  a  prolonged 
action  with  our  main  forces.  As  soon  as  these  appeared  on  the  scene  the 
enemy  returned  to  port,  though  not  before  receiving  severe  damage  from 
our  battleships. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  II3 

The  battle  cruisers  Queen  Mary,  Indefatigable,  and  Invincible,  and  the 
cruisers  Defense  and  Black  Prince  were  sunk. 

The  Warrior  was  disabled,  and  after  being  towed  for  some  time  had  to  be 
abandoned  by  her  crew. 

It  is  also  known  that  the  destroyers  Tipperary,  Turbulent,  Fortune,  Spar- 
rowhawk,  and  Ardent  were  lost,  and  six  others  are  not  yet  accounted  for. 

No  British  battleships  or  light  cruisers  were  sunk. 

The  enemy's  losses  were  serious.  At  least  one  battle  cruiser  was  de- 
stroyed and  one  was  severely  damaged.  One  battleship  is  reported  to  have 
been  sunk  by  our  destroyers. 

During  the  night  attack  two  light  cruisers  were  disabled  and  probably 
sunk. 

The  exact  number  of  enemy  destroyers  disposed  of  during  the  action  can- 
not be  ascertained  with  any  certainty,  but  must  have  been  large. 

Later  this  further  statement  was  published  : 

Since  the  foregoing  communication  was  issued  a  further  report  has  been 
received  from  the  Commander  in  Chief  of  the  Grand  Fleet  stating  that  it 
has  now  been  ascertained  that  our  total  losses  in  destroyers  amount  to  eight 
boats  in  all. 

The  Commander  in  Chief  also  reports  that  it  is  now  possible  to  form  a 
closer  estimate  of  the  losses  and  the  damage  sustained  by  the  enemy  fleet. 

One  dreadnought  battleship  of  the  Kaiser  class  was  blown  up  in  an 
attack  by  British  destroyers,  and  another  dreadnought  battleship  of  the 
Kaiser  class  is  believed  to  have  been  sunk  by  gunfire.  Of  three  German 
battle  cruisers,  two  of  which,  it  is  believed,  were  the  Derfflinger  and  the  Lictzow, 
one  was  blown  up,  another  was  heavily  engaged  by  our  battle  fleet  and 
was  seen  to  be  disabled  and  stopping,  and  the  third  was  observed  to  be 
seriously  damaged. 

One  German  light  cruiser  and  six  German  destroyers  were  sunk,  and  at 
least  two  more  German  light  cruisers  were  seen  to  be  disabled.  Further 
repeated  hits  were  observed  on  three  other  German  battleships  that  were 
engaged. 

Finally,  a  German  submarine  was  rammed  and  sunk. 

The   Chief  of   the  German  Admiralty  Staff  issued  this 
secondary  statement  on  June  3  : 

In  order  to  prevent  fabulous  reports,  it  is  again  stated  that  in  the  battle 
off  Skagerrak  on  May  3 1  the  German  high  sea  forces  were  in  battle  with  the 
entire  modern  English  fleet. 
1 


114  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

To  the  already  published  statements  it  must  be  added  that,  according  to 
the  official  British  report,  the  battle  cruiser  Invincible  and  the  armored 
cruiser  Warrior  were  also  destroyed. 

We  were  obliged  to  blow  up  the  small  cruiser  Elbing,  which,  on  the  night 
of  May  31-June  1,  owing  to  a  collision  with  other  German  war  vessels,  was 
heavily  damaged,  and  it  was  impossible  to  take  her  to  port.  The  crew 
was  rescued  by  torpedo  boats,  with  the  exception  of  the  commander,  two 
other  officers,  and  eighteen  men,  who  remained  aboard  in  order  to  blow  up 
the  vessel.  According  to  Dutch  reports  they  were  later  brought  to  Ymuiden 
on  a  tug  and  landed  there. 

The  British  Admiralty's  next  statement,  dated  June  4, 
impugns  the  truth  of  the  German  report  in  these  terms : 

The  Grand  Fleet  came  in  touch  with  the  German  High  Seas  Fleet  at  3  :  30 
on  the  afternoon  of  May  31.  The  leading  ships  of  the  two  fleets  carried  on 
a  vigorous  fight,  in  which  the  battle  cruisers,  fast  battleships,  and  subsidiary 
craft  all  took  an  active  part. 

The  losses  were  severe  on  both  sides,  but  when  the  main  body  of  the 
British  fleet  came  into  contact  with  the  German  High  Seas  Fleet,  a  very 
brief  period  sufficed  to  compel  the  latter,  who  had  been  severely  punished, 
to  seek  refuge  in  their  protected  waters.  This  manoeuvre  was  rendered 
possible  by  low  visibility  and  mist,  and,  although  the  Grand  Fleet  were  now 
and  then  able  to  get  in  momentary  contact  with  their  opponents,  no  con- 
tinuous action  was  possible.  They  continued  the  pursuit  until  the  light  had 
wholly  failed,  while  the  British  destroyers  were  able  to  make  a  successful 
attack  upon  the  enemy  during  the  night. 

Meanwhile,  Admiral  Sir  John  Jellicoe,  having  driven  the  enemy  into 
port,  returned  to  the  main  scene  of  the  action  and  scoured  the  sea  in  search 
of  disabled  vessels.  By  noon  the  next  day,  June  1,  it  became  evident  that 
there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done.  He  returned,  therefore,  to  his  bases, 
400  miles  away,  refueled  his  fleet,  and  in  the  evening  of  June  2  was  again 
ready  to  put  to  sea.  .  .  . 

There  seems  to  be  the  strongest  ground  for  supposing  that  included  in 
the  German  losses  are  two  battleships,  two  dreadnought  battle  cruisers  of 
the  most  powerful  type,  two  of  the  latest  light  cruisers,  the  Wiesbaden  and 
Elbing;  a  light  cruiser  of  the  Rostock  type,  the  light  cruiser  Frauenlob, 
nine  destroyers,  and  a  submarine. 

To  this  was  added  the  following  on  June  6 : 

An  official  statement  given  out  in  Berlin  to-day,  signed  "  Fleet  Command," 
claims   the   British   lost  the   Warspite,  Princess  Royal,   Birmingham,    and 


ILLUSTRATIONS  115 

Acasta  in  the  action  of  May  31.  This  is  claimed  on  the  evidence  of  British 
sailors  picked  up  by  German  ships. 

This  is  false.     The  complete  list  of  British  losses  is  as  published. 

The  German  Admiralty,  in  an  official  statement  issued  on  June  2,  stated 
that,  among  other  casualties,  a  British  submarine  was  sunk  in  the  course 
of  the  battle  during  the  afternoon  and  night  of  May  31. 

All  British  submarines  at  sea  on  that  date  have  now  returned.  It  must, 
therefore,  be  assumed,  if  any  importance  is  to  be  attached  to  the  German 
official  statement,  that  the  submarine  sunk  was  an  enemy  submarine.  This 
vessel  should  be  added  to  the  list  of  German  losses  stated  in  the  British  Ad- 
miralty communique  of  June  4. 

An  official  German  statement  admitting  the  loss  of  the 
Lutzotv  and  Rostock  was  issued  June  8.  The  losses  of  the 
British  are  again  said  to  have  been  heavier  than  admitted 
by  them.     The  official  writer  continues : 

It  is  asserted,  for  instance,  that  the  German  fleet  left  the  battlefield  and 
that  the  English  fleet  remained  master  of  the  battlefield.  With  regard  to 
this  it  is  stated  that  by  repeated,  effective  attacks  of  our  torpedo-boat 
flotillas  during  the  battle  on  the  evening  of  May  3 1  the  English  main  fleet 
was  forced  to  turn  around,  and  it  never  again  came  within  sight  of  our  forces. 
In  spite  of  its  superior  speed  and  reinforcement  by  an  English  squadron  of 
twelve  vessels,  which  came  up  from  the  southern  North  Sea,  it  never  at- 
tempted to  come  again  into  touch  with  our  forces  to  continue  the  battle  or 
attempt  in  conjunction  with  the  above-mentioned  squadron  to  bring  about 
the  desired  destruction  of  the  German  fleet. 

The  English  assertion  that  the  English  fleet  in  vain  attempted  to  reach 
the  fleeing  German  fleet  in  order  to  defeat  it  before  reaching  its  home  points 
of  support  is  contradicted  by  the  alleged  official  English  statement  that 
Admiral  Jellicoe,  with  his  Grand  Fleet,  already  had  reached  the  basin  of 
Scalpa  Flow,  in  the  Orkneys,  300  miles  from  the  battlefield,  on  June  1. 

Numerous  German  torpedo-boat  flotillas  sent  out  after  the  day  battle 
for  a  night  attack  toward  the  north,  and  beyond  the  theatre  of  the  day 
battle,  did  not  find  the  English  main  fleet  in  spite  of  a  keen  search.  More- 
over, our  torpedo  boats  had  an  opportunity  of  rescuing  a  great  number  of 
English  survivors  of  the  various  sunken  vessels. 

As  further  proof  of  the  fact,  contested  by  the  English,  of  the  participation 
of  their  entire  battle  fleet  in  the  battle  of  May  31,  it  is  pointed  out  that  the 
British  Admiralty  report  too  announced  that  the  Marlborough  had  been 
disabled.     Furthermore,  one  of  our  submarines  on  June  1  sighted  another 


Il6  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

of  the  Iron  Duke  class  heavily  damaged  steering  toward  the  English  coast. 
Both  mentioned  vessels  belonged  to  the  English  main  fleet. 

In  order  to  belittle  the  great  German  success  the  English  press  also  traces 
the  loss  of  numerous  English  vessels  largely  to  the  effect  of  German  mines, 
submarines,  and  airships.  Regarding  this,  it  is  especially  pointed  out 
that  neither  mines,  which,  by  the  way,  would  have  been  just  as  dangerous 
to  our  own  fleet  as  to  that  of  the  enemy,  nor  submarines  were  employed  by 
our  High  Seas  Fleet.  German  airships  were  used  exclusively  for  recon- 
noissance  on  June  I. 

The  German  victory  was  gained  by  able  leadership  and  by  the  effect 
of  our  artillery  and  torpedo  weapons.  .  .  . 

The  British  indicate  that  the  Pommern,  which  we  reported  lost,  is  not  the 
ship  of  the  line  of  13,000  tons  from  the  year  1905,  but  a  modern  dreadnought 
of  the  same  name.  We  state  that  the  total  loss  of  the  German  high  sea 
forces  during  the  battle  of  May  31- June  1,  and  the  following  time  are: 
One  battle  cruiser,  one  ship  of  the  line  of  older  construction,  four  small 
cruisers,  and  five  torpedo  boats.  Of  these  losses,  the  Pommern,  launched  in 
1905  ;  the  Wiesbaden,  Elbing,  Frauenlob,  and  five  torpedo  boats  already  have 
been  reported  in  official  statements.  For  military  reasons,  we  refrained 
until  now  from  making  public  the  losses  of  the  vessels  Lutzow  and  Rostock. 

In  view  of  the  wrong  interpretation  of  this  measure,  and,  moreover, 
in  order  to  frustrate  English  legends  about  gigantic  losses  on  our  side,  these 
reasons  must  no  longer  be  regarded.  Both  ships  were  lost  on  the  way  to  the 
harbor,  to  be  repaired  after  attempts  to  keep  the  badly  damaged  vessels 
afloat  had  failed.  The  crews  of  both,  including  all  the  severely  wounded, 
are  safe. 

While  the  German  list  of  losses  is  herewith  closed,  there  are  positive  in- 
dications at  hand  that  the  actual  British  losses  were  materially  higher  than 
admitted.  It  has  been  established  by  us  on  the  basis  of  our  own  obser- 
vations and  of  what  has  been  made  public,  as  well  as  from  statements  of 
British  prisoners,  that,  in  addition  to  the  Warspite,  the  Princess  Royal  and 
Birmingham  were  destroyed.  According  to  reliable  reports,  the  dreadnought 
Marlborough  also  sank  before  reaching  harbor.   .  .  . 

Chief  of  the  Admiralty  Staff. 

To  Jellicoe's  assertion  that  Germany's  losses  were  as  great 
as  those  of  Britain  the  Admiralty  at  Berlin  retorted  on  June 
15  with  the  following  definite  figures: 

Against  this  we  point  out  the  comparison  of  losses  officially  published  on 
the  7th,  showing  a  total  loss  in  tonnage  of  German  war  vessels  of  60,720, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  117 

against  the  British  loss  of  117,150,  where  only  those  English  vessels  and 
destroyers  were  taken  into  account  whose  losses  until  now  have  been  officially 
admitted  on  the  English  side. 

According  to  statements  of  English  prisoners,  further  vessels  were  sunk, 
among  them  the  dreadnought  Warspite. 

No  other  German  vessels  were  lost  than  those  made  public.  They  are  the 
Lutzow,  Pommern,  Wiesbaden,  Frauenlob,  Elbing,  Rostock,  and  five  tor- 
pedo boats.  This  shows  that  the  human  losses  to  the  English  in  the  battle 
were  considerably  greater  than  the  German. 

While  from  the  English  side  the  officer  losses  announced  were  343  dead  or 
missing  and  51  wounded,  our  losses  in  officers,  engineers,  sanitary  officers, 
paymasters,  ensigns,  and  petty  officers,  are  172  dead  or  missing  and  41 
wounded. 

The  total  losses  among  the  English  crews  as  far  as  published  by  the 
Admiralty  are  6,104  dead  or  missing,  513  wounded.  On  the  German  side 
the  losses  are  2,414  dead  or  missing,  449  wounded. 

During  and  after  the  battle  our  vessels  rescued  177  English,  while  up  to 
now  no  German  prisoners  from  this  battle  are  known  to  be  in  English  hands. 
The  names  of  the  English  prisoners  will  be  communicated  to  the  British 
Government  in  the  usual  manner. 

An  informal  British  account  of  the  battle  of  Jutland  in  detail  which 
appeared  in  "The  Glasgow  Herald"  and  which  evidently  has  official  au- 
thority behind  it,  runs  as  follows  : 

First  Phase,  3  :  30  p.m.,  May  31.  —  Beatty's  battle  cruisers, 
consisting  of  the  Lion,  Princess  Royal,  Queen  Mary,  Tiger, 
Inflexible,  Indomitable,  Invincible,  Indefatigable,  and  New 
Zealand,  were  on  a  southeasterly  course,  followed  at  about 
two  miles  distance  by  the  four  Queen  Elizabeths. 

Enemy  light  cruisers  were  sighted,  and  shortly  afterward 
the  head  of  the  German  battle  cruiser  squadron,  consisting 
of  the  new  cruiser  Hindenburg,  the  Seydlitz,  Derfflinger, 
Lutzow,  Moltke,  and  possibly  the  Salamis. 

Beatty  at  once  began  firing  at  a  range  of  about  20,000 
yards,  (twelve  miles,)  which  shortened  to  16,000  yards 
(nine  miles)  as  the  fleets  closed.  The  Germans  could  see 
the  British  distinctly  outlined  against  the  light  yellow  sky. 


Il8  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

The  Germans,  covered  by  a  haze,  could  be  very  indistinctly 
made  out  by  our  gunners. 

The  Queen  Elizabeths  opened  fire  on  one  after  another 
as  they  came  within  range.  The  German  battle  cruisers 
turned  to  port  and  drew  away  to  about  20,000  yards. 

Second  Phase,  4 :  40  p.m.  —  A  destroyer  screen  then  ap- 
peared beyond  the  German  battle  cruisers.  The  whole 
German  High  Seas  Fleet  could  be  seen  approaching  on  the 
northeastern  horizon  in  three  divisions,  coming  to  the  sup- 
port of  their  battle  cruisers. 

The  German  battle  cruisers  now  turned  right  round  16 
points  and  took  station  in  front  of  the  battleships  of  the  high 
fleet. 

Beatty  with  his  battle  cruisers  and  supporting  battleships, 
therefore,  had  before  him  the  whole  of  the  German  battle 
fleet,  and  Jellicoe  was  still  some  distance  away. 

The  opposing  fleets  were  now  moving  parallel  to  one 
another  in  opposite  directions,  and  but  for  a  master  manoeu- 
vre on  the  part  of  Beatty  the  British  advance  ships  would 
have  been  cut  off  from  Jellicoe's  grand  fleet.  In  order  to 
avoid  this  and  at  the  same  time  prepare  the  way  so  that 
Jellicoe  might  envelop  his  adversary,  Beatty  immediately 
also  turned  right  around  16  points,  so  as  to  bring  his  ships 
parallel  to  the  German  battle  cruisers  and  facing  in  the  same 
direction. 

As  soon  as  he  was  around  he  increased  to  full  speed  to  get 
ahead  of  the  Germans  and  take  up  a  tactical  position  in  ad- 
vance of  their  line.  He  was  able  to  do  this  owing  to  the 
superior  speed  of  our  battle  cruisers. 

Just  before  the  turning  point  was  reached,  the  Indefatigable 
sank,  and  the  Queen  Mary  and  the  Invincible  also  were  lost 
at  the  turning  point,  where,  of  course,  the  High  Seas  Fleet 
concentrated  their  fire. 

A  little  earlier,  as  the  German  battle  cruisers  were  turning, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  119 

the  Queen  Elizabeths  had  in  similar  manner  concentrated 
their  fire  on  the  turning  point  and  destroyed  a  new  German 
battle  cruiser,  believed  to  be  the  Hindenburg. 

Beatty  had  now  got  around  and  headed  away  with  the  loss 
of  three  ships,  racing  parallel  to  the  German  battle  cruisers. 
The  Queen  Elizabeths  followed  behind,  engaging  the  main 
High  Seas  Fleet. 

Third  Phase,  5  p.m.  —  The  Queen  Elizabeths  now  turned 
short  to  port  16  points  in  order  to  follow  Beatty.  The  War- 
spite  jammed  her  steering  gear,  failed  to  get  around,  and 
drew  the  fire  of  six  of  the  enemy,  who  closed  in  upon  her. 

I  am  not  surprised  that  the  Germans  claim  her  as  a  loss, 
since  on  paper  she  ought  to  have  been  lost,  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  though  repeatedly  straddled  by  shell  fire  with  the 
water  boiling  up  all  around  her,  she  was  not  seriously  hit,  and 
was  able  to  sink  one  of  her  opponents.  Her  Captain  re- 
covered control  of  the  vessel,  brought  her  around,  and  fol- 
lowed her  consorts. 

In  the  meantime  the  Barham,  Valiant,  and  Malaya  turned 
short  so  as  to  avoid  the  danger  spot  where  the  Queen  Mary 
and  the  Invincible  had  been  lost,  and  for  an  hour  until  Jellicoe 
arrived  fought  a  delaying  action  against  the  High  Seas  Fleet. 

The  War  spite  joined  them  at  about  5:15  o'clock,  and  all 
four  ships  were  so  successfully  manoeuvred  in  order  to  upset 
the  spotting  corrections  of  their  opponents  that  no  hits  of 
a  seriously  disabling  character  were  suffered.  They  had 
the  speed  over  their  opponents  by  fully  four  knots,  and 
were  able  to  draw  away  from  part  of  the  long  line  of  German 
battleships,  which  almost  filled  up  the  horizon. 

At  this  time  the  Queen  Elizabeths  were  steadily  firing  at 
the  flashes  of  German  guns  at  a  range  which  varied  between 
12,000  and  15,000  yards,  especially  against  those  ships  which 
were  nearest  them.  The  Germans  were  enveloped  in  a  mist, 
and  only  smoke  and  flashes  were  visible. 


120  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

By  5  :  45  half  of  the  High  Seas  Fleet  had  been  left  out  of 
range,  and  the  Queen  Elizabeths  were  steaming  fast  to  join 
hands  with  Jellicoe. 

I  must  now  return  to  Beatty's  battle  cruisers.  They  had 
succeeded  in  outflanking  the  German  battle  cruisers,  which 
were,  therefore,  obliged  to  turn  a  full  right  angle  to  starboard 
to  avoid  being  headed. 

Heavy  fighting  was  renewed  between  the  opposing  battle 
cruiser  squadrons,  during  which  the  Derfflinger  was  sunk ; 
but  toward  6  o'clock  the  German  fire  slackened  very  con- 
siderably, showing  that  Beatty's  battle  cruisers  and  the  Queen 
Elizabeths  had  inflicted  serious  damage  on  their  immediate 
opponents. 

Fourth  Phase,  6  p.m.  —  The  Grand  Fleet  was  now  in  sight, 
and,  coming  up  fast  in  three  directions,  the  Queen  Elizabeths 
altered  their  course  four  points  to  the  starboard  and  drew 
in  toward  the  enemy  to  allow  Jellicoe  room  to  deploy  into 
line. 

The  Grand  Fleet  was  perfectly  manoeuvred,  and  the  very 
difficult  operation  of  deploying  between  the  battle  cruisers 
and  the  Queen  Elizabeths  was  perfectly  timed. 

Jellicoe  c.ame  up,  fell  in  behind  Beatty's  cruisers,  and, 
followed  by  the  damaged  but  still  serviceable  Queen  Eliza- 
beths, steamed  right  across  the  head  of  the  German  fleet. 

The  first  of  the  ships  to  come  into  action  were  the  Revenue 
and  the  Royal  Oak  with  their  fifteen-inch  guns,  and  the 
Agincourt,  which  fired  from  her  seven  turrets  with  the  speed 
almost  of  a  Maxim  gun. 

The  whole  British  fleet  had  now  become  concentrated. 
They  had  been  perfectly  manoeuvred,  so  as  to  "cross  the 
T"  of  the  High  Seas  Fleet,  and,  indeed,  only  decent  light  was 
necessary  to  complete  their  work  of  destroying  the  Germans 
in  detail.  The  light  did  improve  for  a  few  minutes,  and  the 
conditions  were  favorable  to  the  British  fleet,  which  was 


ILLUSTRATIONS  121 

now  in  line  approximately  north  and  south  across  the  head 
of  the  Germans. 

During  the  few  minutes  of  good  light  Jellicoe  smashed  up 
the  first  three  German  ships,  but  the  mist  came  down, 
visibility  suddenly  failed,  and  the  defeated  High  Seas  Fleet 
was  able  to  draw  off  in  ragged  divisions. 

Fifth  Phase,  Night.  —  The  Germans  were  followed  by 
the  British,  who  still  had  them  enveloped  between  Jellicoe  on 
the  west,  Beatty  on  the  north,  and  Evan  Thomas  with  his 
three  Queen  Elizabeths  on  the  south.  The  Warspite  had 
been  sent  back  to  her  base. 

During  the  night  our  torpedo  boat  destroyers  heavily  at- 
tacked the  German  ships,  and,  although  they  lost  seriously 
themselves,  succeeded  in  sinking  two  of  the  enemy. 

Co-ordination  of  the  units  of  the  fleet  was  practically  im- 
possible to  keep  up,  and  the  Germans  discovered  by  the 
rays  of  their  searchlights  the  three  Queen  Elizabeths,  not 
more  than  4,000  yards  away.  Unfortunately  they  were 
then  able  to  escape  between  the  battleships  and  Jellicoe, 
since  we  were  not  able  to  fire,  as  our  own  destroyers  were 
in  the  way. 

So  ended  the  Jutland  battle,  which  was  fought  as  had 
been  planned  and  very  nearly  a  great  success.  It  was  spoiled 
by  the  unfavorable  weather  conditions,  especially  at  the  crit- 
ical moment,  when  the  whole  British  fleet  was  concentrated 
and  engaged  in  crushing  the  head  of  the  German  line. 

It  was  an  action  on  our  part  of  big  guns,  except  of  course 
for  the  destroyer  work,  since  at  a  very  early  stage  our  big 
ships  ceased  to  feel  any  anxiety  from  the  German  destroyers. 
The  German  small  craft  were  rounded  up  by  their  British 
opponents  and  soon  ceased  to  count  as  an  organized  body. 

A  semi-official  account  of  the  battle  of  the  Skagerrak,  issued 
in  Berlin  on  June  5,  gives  a  very  different  version  of  certain 


122  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

aspects  oj  the  fight,  especially  of  the  number  of  vessels  engaged 
on  both  sides: 

The  German  High  Seas  Fleet  had  pushed  out  into  the  North 
Sea  in  the  hope  of  engaging  portions  of  the  English  fleet, 
which  had  recently  been  repeatedly  reported  off  the  Nor- 
wegian south  coast.  At  3  :  15  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  some 
seventy  miles  off  the  Skagerrak,  some  small  cruisers  of  the 
Calliope  class  were  sighted.  Our  cruisers  at  once  pursued 
the  enemy,  which  fled  northward  at  highest  speed. 

At  5  :  20  o'clock  our  cruisers  sighted  two  enemy  columns 
to  the  west,  consisting  of  six  battle  cruisers  and  a  great 
number  of  small  cruisers.  The  enemy  passed  toward  the 
south,  and  our  ships,  approaching  to  nineteen  kilometers, 
opened  very  effective  fire  on  south-southeastern  courses. 
During  the  battle  two  English  battle  cruisers  and  one  de- 
stroyer were  sunk. 

After  half  an  hour's  fighting  heavy  enemy  reinforcements, 
later  observed  to  be  five  vessels  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  class, 
were  sighted  to  the  north.  Soon  afterward  the  German 
main  force  entered  the  fight,  and  the  enemy  at  once  turned 
north. 

The  British  commander,  driving  his  ships  at  full  speed, 
attempted  to  evade  our  extremely  effective  fire  by  taking 
an  echelon  formation.  Our  fleet  followed  at  top  speed  the 
movements  of  the  enemy.  In  the  course  of  this  period  of 
the  fighting  one  cruiser  of  the  Achilles  or  Shannon  class 
and  two  destroyers  were  sunk,  while  a  number  of  other  ves- 
sels suffered  heavy  damage. 

The  battle  against  superior  forces  lasted  until  darkness 
fell.  Besides  numerous  light  detachments,  at  least  twenty- 
five  British  battleships,  six  battle  cruisers,  and  four  armored 
cruisers  engaged  sixteen  German  battleships,  five  battle 
cruisers,  six  older  ships  of  the  line,  and  no  armored  cruisers. 

After  dark  our  flotillas  opened  a  night  attack.     During 


ILLUSTRATIONS  123 

this  attack  several  cruiser  and  torpedo  boat  engagements 
occurred,  resulting  in  the  destruction  of  one  battle  cruiser, 
one  cruiser  of  the  Achilles  class,  probably  two  small  cruisers, 
and  at  least  ten  destroyers.  Six  of  the  latter,  including  the 
new  destroyer  leaders,  the  Turbulent  and  the  Tipperary, 
were  destroyed  by  the  leading  vessels  of  our  High  Seas  Fleet. 
The  British  squadron  of  older  battleships,  which  hurried 
up  from  the  south,  did  not  arrive  until  Thursday  morning, 
after  the  conclusion  of  the  battle,  and  returned  without  tak- 
ing any  part  in  the  fighting  or  coming  within  sight  of  our 
main  force. 

II 

ADMIRAL  JELLICOE'S  OFFICIAL  REPORT  OF  THE 
BATTLE  OF  JUTLAND 

Vice  Admiral  Sir  John  Jellicoe's  official  report  of  the  North 
Sea  naval  battle,  which  the  British  call  the  battle  of  Jutland 
and  the  Germans  the  battle  of  the  Skagerrak,  was  made  pub- 
lic on  July  6.  Even  here  the  full  list  of  ships  and  commanders 
is  "  withheld  from  publication  for  the  present,  in  accordance 
with  the  usual  practice."  Following  is  the  full  text  of  all  the 
vital  portions  of  the  document: 

The  ships  of  the  Grand  Fleet,  in  pursuance  of  the  general  policy  of  period- 
ical sweeps  through  the  North  Sea,  had  left  their  base  on  the  previous  day 
in  accordance  with  instructions  issued  by  me.  In  the  early  afternoon  of 
Wednesday,  May  31,  the  first  and  second  battle  cruiser  squadrons,  the  first, 
second,  and  third  light  cruiser  squadrons,  and  destroyers  from  the  first, 
ninth,  tenth,  and  thirteenth  flotillas,  supported  by  the  fifth  battle  squadron, 
were,  in  accordance  with  my  directions,  scouting  to  the  southward  of  the 
battle  fleet,  which  was  accompanied  by  the  third  battle  cruiser  squadron,  the 
first  and  second  cruiser  squadrons,  the  fourth  light  cruiser  squadron,  and  the 
fourth,  eleventh,  and  twelfth  flotillas. 

The  junction  of  the  battle  fleet  with  the  scouting  forcd  after  the  enemy 
had  been  sighted  was  delayed  owing  to  the  southerly  course  steered  by  our 


124  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

advanced  force  during  the  first  hour  after  commencing  their  action  with  the 
enemy  battle  cruisers.  This,  of  course,  was  unavoidable,  as  had  our  battle 
cruisers  not  followed  the  enemy  to  the  southward  the  main  fleets  would 
never  have  been  in  contact. 

The  battle  cruiser  fleet,  gallantly  led  by  Vice  Admiral  Beatty,  and  admi- 
rably supported  by  the  ships  of  the  fifth  battle  squadron  under  Rear  Admiral 
Evan-Thomas,  fought  the  action  under,  at  times,  disadvantageous  condi- 
tions, especially  in  regard  to  light,  in  a  manner  that  was  in  keeping  with 
the  best  traditions  of  the  service. 

Admiral  Jellicoe  estimates  the  German  losses  at  two  bat- 
tleships of  the  dreadnought  type,  one  of  the  Deutschland 
type,  which  was  seen  to  sink ;  the  battle  cruiser  Liitzow, 
admitted  by  the  Germans,  one  battle  cruiser  of  the  dread- 
nought type,  one  battle  cruiser  seen  to  be  so  severely  dam- 
aged that  its  return  was  extremely  doubtful ;  five  light 
cruisers,  seen  to  sink  —  one  of  them  possibly  a  battleship; 
six  destroyers  seen  to  sink,  three  destroyers  so  damaged  that 
it  was  doubtful  if  they  would  be  able  to  reach  port,  and  a 
submarine  sunk.    In  concluding  Admiral  Jellicoe  says  : 

The  conditions  of  low  visibility  under  which  the  day  action  took  place  and 
the  approach  of  darkness  enhanced  the  difficulty  of  giving  an  accurate  re- 
port of  the  damage  inflicted  or  the  names  of  the  ships  sunk  by  our  forces. 
But  after  a  most  careful  examination  of  the  evidence  of  all  the  officers  who 
testified  to  seeing  enemy  vessels  actually  sink,  and  personal  interviews  with 
a  large  number  of  these  officers,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  the  list  shown  in 
the  inclosure  gives  the  minimum  numbers,  though  it  is  possible  it  is  not  ac- 
curate as  regards  the  particular  class  of  vessel,  especially  those  which  were 
sunk  during  the  night  attack.  In  addition  to  the  vessels  sunk,  it  is  un- 
questionable that  many  other  ships  were  very  seriously  damaged  by  gunfire 
and  torpedo  attack. 

The  hardest  fighting  fell  to  the  battle  cruiser  fleet,  says 
Admiral  Jellicoe,  the  units  of  which  were  less  heavily  armored 
than  theiropponents,  and  he  expresses  high  appreciation  of  the 
handling  of  all  the  vessels  and  commends  Admirals  Burney, 
Jerram,  Sturdee,  Evan-Thomas,  Duff,  and  Leveson,  and 
continues : 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 25 

Vice  Admiral  Sir  David  Beatty  once  again  showed  his  fine  qualities  of 
gallant  leadership,  firm  determination,  and  correct  strategic  fighting.  He 
appreciated  situations  at  once  on  sighting  the  first  enemy's  lighter  forces, 
then  his  battle  cruisers,  finally  his  battleships.  I  can  fully  sympathize 
with  his  feelings  when  the  evening  mist  and  fading  light  robbed  the  fleet  of 
that  complete  victory  for  which  he  had  manoeuvred,  for  which  the  ves- 
sels in  company  with  him  had  striven  so  hard.  The  services  rendered  by 
him,  not  only  on  this  but  on  two  previous  occasions,  have  been  of  the  very 
greatest  value. 

Vice  Admiral  Beatty's  report  to  Admiral  Jellicoe  particu- 
larly mentions  the  work  of  the  Engadine,  Commander  Rob- 
inson, which  towed  the  Warrior  seventy-five  miles  during 
the  night  of  May  31,  and  continues: 

It  is  impossible  to  give  a  definite  statement  of  the  losses  inflicted  on  the 
enemy.  Visibility  was  for  the  most  part  low  and  fluctuating.  Caution  for- 
bade me  to  close  the  range  too  much  with  my  inferior  force.  A  review  of 
all  the  reports  leads  me  to  conclude  that  the  enemy's  losses  were  considerably 
greater  than  those  we  sustained  in  spite  of  their  superiority,  and  included 
battleships,  battle  cruisers,  light  cruisers,  and  destroyers.  This  is  eloquent 
testimony  to  the  very  high  standard  of  gunnery  and  torpedo  efficiency  of 
his  Majesty's  ships.  The  control  and  drill  remained  undisturbed  through- 
out, in  many  cases,  despite  the  heavy  damage  to  material  and  personnel. 

Our  superiority  over  the  enemy  in  this  respect  was  very  marked,  their 
efficiency  becoming  rapidly  reduced  under  punishment,  while  ours  was  main- 
tained throughout.  As  was  to  be  expected,  the  behavior  of  the  ships'  com- 
panies under  the  terrible  conditions  of  a  modern  sea  battle  was  magnificent 
without  exception.  The  strain  on  their  morale  was  a  severe  test  of  dis- 
cipline and  training.  The  officers  and  men  were  imbued  with  one  thought 
—  a  desire  to  defeat  the  enemy. 

Extracts  from  Vice  Admiral  Beatty's  report  give  the 
course  of  events  before  the  battle  fleet  came  on  the  scene  of 
action.  At  2  :  20  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  Galatea  re- 
ported the  presence  of  enemy  vessels.  At  2:35  o'clock 
considerable  smoke  was  sighted  to  the  eastward.  This 
made  it  clear  that  the  enemy  was  to  the  northward  and 
eastward,  and  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  round 


126  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Horn  Reef  without  being  brought  to  action.  The  course 
of  the  British  ships  consequently  was  altered  to  the  east- 
ward, and  subsequently  northeastward. 

The  enemy  was  sighted  at  3:31  o'clock.  His  force  con- 
sisted of  five  battle  cruisers.  Vice  Admiral  Beatty's  first 
and  third  light  cruiser  squadrons,  without  awaiting  orders, 
spread  eastward,  forming  a  screen  in  advance  of  the  battle 
cruiser  squadron  under  Admiral  Evan-Thomas,  consisting 
of  four  battleships  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  class.  The  light 
cruisers  engaged  the  enemy ;  and  the  cruiser  squadron  came 
up  at  high  speed,  taking  station  ahead  of  the  battle  cruisers. 
At  3  :  30  o'clock  Vice  Admiral  Beatty  increased  the  speed  to 
25  knots  and  formed  the  line  of  battle,  the  second  battle 
cruiser  squadron  forming  astern  of  the  first,  with  two  de- 
stroyer flotillas  ahead. 

Vice  Admiral  Beatty  then  turned  east-southeast  slightly, 
converging  on  the  enemy  now  at  a  range  of  23,000  yards. 
The  fifth  battle  cruiser  squadron  was  then  bearing  north- 
northwest  10,000  yards  distant.  The  visibility  was  good. 
Continuing  his  report,  Vice  Admiral  Beatty  said : 

The  sun  was  behind  us.  The  wind  was  southeast.  Being  between  the 
enemy  and  his  base,  our  situation  was  both  tactically  and  strategically  good. 

Both  forces  opened  fire  simultaneously  at  3  :  48  at  a  range  of  18,500  yards. 
The  course  was  altered  southward,  the  enemy  steering  parallel,  distant 
18,000  to  14,500  yards.  The  fifth  battle  squadron  opened  fire  at  a  range 
of  20,000  yards  at  4 :  08.  The  enemy  fire  then  seemed  to  slacken.  Although 
the  presence  of  destroyers  caused  inconvenience  on  account  of  smoke,  they 
preserved  the  battleships  from  submarine  attack. 

Two  submarines  being  sighted,  and  a  flotilla  of  ten  destroyers  being 
ordered  to  attack  the  enemy  with  torpedoes,  they  moved  out  at  4 :  15  o'clock 
simultaneously  with  the  approach  of  German  destroyers.  The  attack 
was  carried  out  gallantly  with  great  determination.  Before  arriving  at  a 
favorable  position  to  fire  torpedoes  they  intercepted  an  enemy  force  con- 
sisting of  one  light  cruiser  and  fifteen  destroyers.  A  fierce  engagement  at 
close  quarters  ensued,  and  the  enemy  was  forced  to  retire  on  their  battle- 
ships, having  two  destroyers  sunk  and  their  torpedo  attack  frustrated.     Our 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 27 

destroyers  sustained  no  loss,  but  the  attack  on  the  enemy  cruisers  was  ren- 
dered less  effective. 

The  Nestor,  Nomad,  and  Mineator,  under  Commander  Edward  Bing- 
ham, pressed  the  attack  on  the  battle  cruisers  and  fired  two  torpedoes. 
Being  subjected  to  a  heavy  fire  at  3,000  yards,  the  Nomad  was  badly  hit 
and  remained  between  the  lines.  The  Nestor  also  was  badly  hit,  but  was 
afloat  when  last  seen.  The  Petard,  Nerissa,  Turbulent,  and  Termagant 
also  are  praised. 

These  destroyer  attacks  were  indicative  of  the  spirit  pervading  the  navy 
and  worthy  of  its  highest  traditions. 

From  4:15  to  4:43  o'clock  the  conflict  between  the 
battle  cruiser  squadrons  was  fierce,  and  the  resolute  British 
fire  began  to  tell.  The  rapidity  and  accuracy  of  the  Ger- 
mans' fire  depreciated  considerably.  The  third  German  ship 
was  seen  to  be  afire.  The  German  battle  fleet  was  reported 
ahead,  and  the  destroyers  were  recalled. 

Vice  Admiral  Beatty  altered  his  course  to  the  northward 
to  lead  the  Germans  toward  the  British  battle  fleet.  The 
second  light  cruiser  squadron  closed  to  13,000  yards  of  the 
German  battle  fleet  and  came  under  heavy  but  ineffective 
fire.  The  fifth  battle  squadron  engaged  the  German  battle 
cruisers  with  all  guns,  and  about  5  o'clock  came  under  the 
fire  of  the  leading  ships  of  the  German  battle  fleet. 

The  weather  became  unfavorable,  Vice  Admiral  Beatty's 
ships  being  silhouetted  against  a  clear  horizon  to  the  Ger- 
mans, whose  ships  were  mostly  obscured  by  mist. 

Between  5  and  6  o'clock  the  action  continued  at  14,000 
yards  on  a  northerly  course,  the  German  ships  receiving  very 
severe  punishment,  one  battle  cruiser  quitting  the  line  con- 
siderably damaged.  At  5:35  o'clock  the  Germans  were 
gradually  hauling  eastward  and  receiving  severe  punish- 
ment at  the  head  of  the  line,  probably  acting  on  informa- 
tion from  their  light  cruisers  which  were  engaged  with  the 
third  battle  cruiser  squadron  or  from  Zeppelins  which  pos- 
sibly were  present. 


128  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

At  5  :  56  o'clock  the  leading  ships  of  the  British  battle 
fleet  were  sighted  bearing  north,  distant  five  miles.  Vice 
Admiral  Beatty  thereon  proceeded  east  at  the  greatest 
speed,  bringing  the  range  to  12,000  yards.  Only  three 
German  battle  cruisers  were  then  visible,  followed  by  battle- 
ships of  the  Konig  type. 

Vice  Admiral  Jellicoe  then  takes  up  the  story  of  the  battle 
fleet.  Informed  that  the  Germans  were  sighted,  the  fleet  pro- 
ceeded at  full  speed  on  a  southeast  by  south  course  during 
two  hours  before  arriving  on  the  scene  of  the  battle.  The 
steaming  qualities  of  the  older  ships  were  severely  tested. 
When  the  battle  fleet  was  meeting  the  battle  cruisers  and 
the  fifth  battle  squadron,  great  care  was  necessary  to  insure 
that  the  British  ships  were  not  mistaken  for  the  German  war- 
ships. 

Vice  Admiral  Beatty  reported  the  position  of  the  German 
battle  fleet  at  6:15  o'clock.  Vice  Admiral  Jellicoe  then 
formed  the  line  of  battle,  Vice  Admiral  Beatty  meantime 
having  formed  the  battle  cruisers  ahead  of  the  battle  fleet; 
and  the  fleets  became  engaged.  During  the  deployment 
the  Defense  and  Warrior  were  seen  passing  between  the 
British  and  German  fleets  under  heavy  fire.  The  Defense 
disappeared ;    and  the  Warrior  passed  to  the  rear,  disabled. 

Vice  Admiral  Jellicoe  considers  it  probable  that  Sir  Robert 
K.  Arbuthnot,  the  Rear  Admiral  who  was  lost  on  board  the 
Defense,  was  not  aware,  during  the  engagement  with  the 
German  light  cruisers,  of  the  approach  of  their  heavy  ships, 
owing  to  the  mist,  until  he  found  himself  in  close  proximity 
to  the  main  German  fleet.  Before  he  could  withdraw,  his 
ships  were  caught  under  a  heavy  fire  and  disabled.  When 
the  Black  Prince  of  the  same  squadron  was  sunk  is  not  known, 
but  a  wireless  signal  was  received  from  her  between  8  and 
9  o'clock. 

Owing  principally  to  the  mist,  it  was  possible  to  see  only 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 29 

a  few  ships  at  a  time.  Toward  the  close  of  the  battle  only- 
four  or  five  were  visible,  and  never  more  than  eight  to  twelve. 

The  third  battle  cruiser  squadron,  under  Rear  Admiral 
Horace  Alexander  Hood,  was  in  advance  of  the  battle  fleet 
and  ordered  to  reinforce  Vice  Admiral  Beatty.  While  en 
route  the  Chester,  Captain  Lawson,  engaged  three  or  four 
German  light  cruisers  for  twenty  minutes.  Despite  many 
casualties,  her  steaming  qualities  were  unimpaired. 

Describing  the  work  of  the  third  squadron,  Vice  Admiral 
Beatty  said  Rear  Admiral  Hood  brought  it  into  action  ahead 
of  the  Lion  "in  the  most  inspiring  manner,  worthy  of  his 
great  naval  ancestors."  Vice  Admiral  Hood,  at  6 :  25  p.m., 
was  only  8,000  yards  from  the  leading  German  ship,  and 
the  British  vessels  poured  a  hot  fire  into  her  and  caused  her 
to  turn  away.     Vice  Admiral  Beatty,  continuing,  reports : 

By  6:50  o'clock  the  battle  cruisers  were  clear  of  our  leading  battle 
squadron,  and  I  ordered  the  third  battle  cruiser  squadron  to  prolong  the  line 
astern,  and  reduced  the  speed  to  eighteen  knots.  The  visibility  at  this  time 
was  very  indifferent,  not  more  than  four  miles,  and  the  enemy  ships  were 
temporarily  lost  sight  of  after  6  p.m.  Although  the  visibility  became  re- 
duced, it  undoubtedly  was  more  favorable  to  us  than  to  the  enemy.  At 
intervals  their  ships  showed  up  clearly,  enabling  us  to  punish  them  very 
severely  and  to  establish  a  definite  superiority  over  them.  It  was  clear 
that  the  enemy  suffered  considerable  damage,  battle  cruisers  and  battleships 
alike.  The  head  of  their  line  was  crumpled  up,  leaving  their  battleships 
as  a  target  for  the  majority  of  our  battle  cruisers.  Before  leaving,  the  fifth 
battle  squadron  was  also  engaging  battleships. 

The  report  of  Rear  Admiral  Evan-Thomas  shows  excellent  results  were 
obtained.  It  can  safely  be  said  that  his  magnificent  squadron  wrought 
great  execution. 

The  action  between  the  battle  fleets  lasted,  intermittently, 
from  6:17  to  8:20  o'clock  at  ranges  between  9,000  and 
12,000  yards.  The  Germans  constantly  turned  away  and 
opened  the  range  under  the  cover  of  destroyer  attacks  and 
smoke  screens  as  the  effect  of  the  British  fire  was  felt;  and 

K 


130  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

alterations  of  the  course  from  southeast  by  east  to  west  in 
an  endeavor  to  close  up  brought  the  British  battle  fleet,  which 
commenced  action  in  an  advantageous  position  on  the 
Germans'  bow,  to  a  quarterly  bearing  from  the  German  battle 
line,  but  placed  Vice  Admiral  Jellicoe  between  the  Germans 
and  their  bases. 

Vice  Admiral  Jellicoe  says:  "During  the  somewhat  brief 
periods  that  the  ships  of  the  High  Sea  Fleet  were  visible 
through  the  mist,  a  heavy  and  effective  fire  kept  up  by  the 
battleships  and  battle  cruisers  of  the  Grand  Fleet  caused 
me  much  satisfaction.  The  enemy  vessels  were  seen  to  be 
constantly  hit,  some  being  observed  to  haul  out  of  the  line. 
At  least  one  sank.  The  enemy's  return  fire  at  this  period 
was  not  effective,  and  the  damage  caused  to  our  ships  was  in- 
significant." 

Vice  Admiral  Beatty's  report  covering  this  period  says  the 
German  ships  he  was  engaging  showed  signs  of  punishment. 
The  visibility  improved  at  sunset  at  7:17,  when  he  re-en- 
gaged, and  destroyers  at  the  head  of  the  German  line  emitted 
volumes  of  gray  smoke,  covering  their  capital  ships  as  with  a 
pall,  under  cover  of  which  they  turned  away  and  disappeared. 
At  7 :  45  the  light  cruiser  squadrons,  sweeping  westward, 
located  two  German  battleships  and  cruisers.  At  8 :  20 
Vice  Admiral  Beatty  heavily  engaged  them  at  10,000  yards. 
The  leading  ship,  being  repeatedly  hit  by  the  Lion,  turned 
away  in  flames  with  a  heavy  list.  The  Princess  Royal  set 
fire  to  a  three-funneled  battleship.  The  New  Zealand  and 
Indomitable  reported  that  the  ship  they  engaged  left  the  line 
heeling  over  and  afire.  At  8 :  40  the  battle  cruisers  felt  a 
heavy  shock  as  if  struck  by  a  mine  or  torpedo.  This  was 
assumed  to  be  a  vessel  blowing  up. 

Vice  Admiral  Beatty  reported  that  he  did  not  consider  it 
desirable  or  proper  to  engage  the  German  battle  fleet  during 
the  dark  hours,  as  the  strategical  position  made  it  appear 


ILLUSTRATIONS  131 

certain  he  could  locate  them  at  daylight  under  most  fa- 
vorable circumstances. 

Vice  Admiral  Jellicoe  reports  that,  as  anticipated,  the 
Germans  appeared  to  have  relied  much  upon  torpedo  at- 
tacks, which  were  favored  by  low  visibility  and  by  the  fact 
that  the  British  were  in  the  position  of  a  following  or  chasing 
fleet.  Of  the  large  number  of  torpedoes  apparently  fired 
only  one  took  effect,  and  this  was  upon  the  Marlborough, 
which  was  able  to  continue  in  action.  The  efforts  of  the  Ger- 
mans to  keep  out  of  effective  gun  range  were  aided,  he  says, 
by  weather  ideal  for  that  purpose.  The  Germans  made  two 
separate  destroyer  attacks.  The  first  battle  squadron  at 
11,000  yards  administered  severe  punishment  to  battleships, 
battle  cruisers,  and  light  cruisers.  The  fire  of  the  Marlborough 
was  particularly  effective  and  rapid.  She  commenced  by 
firing  seven  salvos  at  a  ship  of  the  Kaiser  class,  and  then 
engaged  a  cruiser  and  next  a  battleship.  The  Marlborough 
was  hit  by  a  torpedo  at  6 :  54  p.m.,  and  took  a  con- 
siderable 'list  to  starboard,  but  reopened  fire  at  7 :  03  at  a 
cruiser.  At  7:12  she  fired  fourteen  rapid  salvos  at  a 
cruiser  of  the  Konig  class,  hitting  her  frequently  until  she 
left  the  line. 

During  the  action  the  range  decreased  to  5,000  yards. 
The  first  battle  squadron  received  more  of  the  enemy's  fire 
than  the  remainder  of  the  fleet,  excepting  the  fifth  squadron. 
The  Colossus  was  hit,  but  not  seriously. 

The  fourth  squadron,  led  by  the  flagship  Iron  Duke,  en- 
gaged a  squadron  consisting  of  the  Konig  and  Kaiser  classes 
with  battle  cruisers  and  light  cruisers.  The  British  fire  was 
effective,  although  a  mist  rendered  range-taking  difficult. 
The  Iron  Duke  fired  on  a  battleship  of  the  Konig  class  at 
12,000  yards.  The  hitting  commenced  at  the  second  salvo, 
and  only  ceased  when  the  target  turned  away.  Other 
ships  of  the  squadron  fired  principally  at  German  ships  as 


132  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

they  appeared  out  of  the  mist,  and  several  of  the  German 
vessels  were  hit. 

The  second  squadron  under  Admiral  Jerram  engaged  ves- 
sels of  the  Kaiser  or  Konig  classes  and  also  a  battle  cruiser, 
which  apparently"  was  severely  damaged.  A  squadron  under 
the  command  of  Rear  Admiral  Heath,  with  the  cruiser  Duke 
of  Edinburgh,  acted  as  a  connecting  link  between  the  battle 
fleet  and  the  battle  cruiser  fleet,  but  did  not  get  into 
action. 

The  German  vessels  were  entirely  out  of  the  fight  at  9 
o'clock,  says  the  report.  The  threat  of  destroyer  attacks 
during  the  rapidly  approaching  darkness  made  it  necessary 
to  dispose  of  the  fleet  with  a  view  to  its  safety,  while  pro- 
viding for  a  renewal  of  action  at  daylight.  Vice  Admiral 
Jellicoe  manoeuvred  the  fleet  so  as  to  remain  between  the 
Germans  and  their  bases,  placing  flotillas  of  destroyers  where 
they  could  protect  the  fleet  and  attack  the  heavy  German 
ships. 

The  British  heavy  ships  were  not  attacked  during  the 
night,  but  three  British  destroyer  flotillas  delivered  a  series 
of  gallant  and  successful  attacks,  causing  heavy  losses.  The 
fourth  flotilla,  under  Captain  Wintour,  suffered  severe  losses, 
including  the  Tipperary.  The  twelfth  flotilla,  under  Cap- 
tain Stirling,  attacked  a  squadron  of  six  large  vessels  of  the 
Kaiser  class,  taking  it  by  surprise  and  firing  many  torpedoes. 
The  second,  third,  and  fourth  ships  in  the  line  were  hit,  and 
the  third  blew  up.  The  destroyers  were  under  a  heavy  fire 
of  German  light  cruisers.  Only  the  Onslaught  received 
material  injuries.  The  Castor  sank  a  German  destroyer  at 
point-blank  range. 

The  thirteenth  flotilla,  under  Captain  Farie,  was  stationed 
astern  of  the  battle  fleet.  A  large  vessel  crossed  in  the  rear 
of  the  flotilla  after  midnight  at  high  speed.  Turning  on  her 
searchlights,  she  fired  heavily  on  the  Petard  and  the  Turbu- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 33 

lent,  and  the  latter  was  disabled.  The  Champion  was  en- 
gaged for  a  few  minutes  with  four  German  destroyers,  while 
the  Moresby  fired  a  torpedo  at  a  ship  of  the  Deutschland 
class  and  felt  an  explosion. 

Concluding  his  account  of  the  battle,  Vice  Admiral  Jellicoe 
wrote : 

At  daylight  on  the  first  of  June  the  battle  fleet,  being  southward  of  Horn 
Reef,  turned  northward  in  search  of  the  enemy  vessels  and  for  the  purpose 
of  collecting  our  own  cruisers  and  torpedo  boat  destroyers.  The  visibility 
early  on  the  first  of  June  was  three  to  four  miles  less  than  on  May  3 1 ;  and  the 
torpedo  boat  destroyers,  being  out  of  visual  touch,  did  not  rejoin  the  fleet 
until  9  a.m.  The  British  fleet  remained  in  the  proximity  of  the  battlefield 
and  near  the  line  of  approach  to  the  German  ports  until  11  a.m.,  in  spite  of 
the  disadvantage  of  long  distances  from  fleet  bases  and  the  danger  incurred 
in  waters  adjacent  to  the  enemy's  coasts  from  submarines  and  torpedo  craft. 

The  enemy,  however,  made  no  sign,  and  I  was  reluctantly  compelled  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  High  Sea  Fleet  had  returned  into  port.  Subse- 
quent events  proved  this  assumption  to  have  been  correct.  Our  position 
must  have  been  known  to  the  enemy,  as  at  4  a.m.  the  fleet  engaged  a  Zep- 
pelin about  five  minutes,  during  which  time  she  had  ample  opportunity  to 
note  and  subsequently  report  the  position  and  course  of  the  British  fleet. 

The  waters  from  the  latitude  of  Horn  Reef  to  the  scene  of  action  were 
thoroughly  searched,  and  some  survivors  from  the  destroyers  Ardent,  Fortune, 
and  Tipperary  were  picked  up.  The  Sparrow  Hawk,  which  had  been  in 
collision,  was  no  longer  seaworthy  and  was  sunk  after  the  crew  was  taken 
off.  A  large  amount  of  wreckage  was  seen,  but  no  enemy  ships ;  and  at 
1 :  15,  it  being  evident  that  the  German  fleet  had  succeeded  in  returning  to 
port,  our  course  was  shaped  for  our  bases,  which  were  reached  without  fur- 
ther incident  on  Friday,  June  2. 

The  cruiser  squadron  was  detached  to  search  for  the  Warrior,  which 
had  been  abandoned  while  in  tow  of  the  Engadine  on  the  way  to  the  base, 
owing  to  bad  weather  setting  in  and  the  vessel  becoming  unseaworthy.  No 
trace  of  her  was  discovered,  and  subsequent  search  by  the  light  cruiser 
squadron  having  failed  to  locate  her,  it  was  evident  she  had  foundered. 

The  fleet  was  fueled,  replenished  its  ammunition,  and  at  9:  30  p.m.,  on 
June  2,  was  reported  ready  for  further  action. 

Two  estimates  of  the  total  tonnage  lost  by  the  Germans 
in  the  Jutland  battle  have  been  made  by  British  officials. 


134  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

The  more  conservative  one,  who  included  in  his  list  only- 
vessels  "seen  to  sink"  and  based  his  estimate  on  the  theory 
that  the  battleships  sunk  were  of  the  oldest  dreadnought 
type,  gives  the  German  tonnage  lost  as  109,220,  as  com- 
pared with  a  British  loss  in  tonnage  of  112,350.  He  con- 
cludes that  the  Germans  lost  two  battleships  of  the  dread- 
nought type  of  18,900  tons  each,  one  of  the  Deutschland 
type  of  13,200  tons,  the  battle  cruiser  Lutzozu  of  28,000  tons, 
five  cruisers  of  the  Rostock  type,  making  a  total  of  24,500 
tons  for  this  type ;  six  destroyers,  aggregating  4,920  tons, 
and  one  submarine  of  800  tons. 

The  more  liberal  estimate  places  the  German  loss  at  1 17,220 
tons,  as  follows : 

One  dreadnought  of  the  Kronprinz  type,  25,480  tons; 
one  of  the  Heligoland  type,  22,440  tons ;  battleship  Pom- 
mem,  13,000  tons;  battle  cruiser  Lutzozv,  28,000  tons;  five 
Rostocks,  aggregating  24,500  tons ;  destroyers  aggregating 
4,000  tons,  and  a  submarine  of  800  tons. 


Ill 
FROM    THE    BATTLE    OF    JUTLAND    ANALYZED 

BY  ADMIRAL  SIR  CYPRIAN   BRIDGE 

British  Naval  Veteran  and  Expert 

Interesting  evidence  of  the  decisive  character  of  the 
victory  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  during  the  month  of  June 
the  British  vessels  which  had  been  shut  up  in  the  Baltic 
since  the  beginning  of  the  war  have  been  returning  day 
after  day  to  British  ports.  This  shows  that  the  Germans 
have  less  control  than  ever  of  the  seas. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 35 

FROM  NAVAL  LOSSES  OF   BRITAIN  AND    GER- 
MANY 

BY  ARCHIBALD  HURD 
Naval  Expert  of  The  London  Telegraph 

It  is  now  known  that  the  battle  cruiser  Seydlitz  was  run 
ashore  to  save  her  from  sinking;  she  is  practically  a  wreck, 
and  useless  for  months,  if  not  forever,  but  has  been  got  into 
port.  It  is  asserted  by  travelers  who  have  returned  to 
Amsterdam  that  the  battle  cruiser  Derfflinger  sank  "on  being 
towed  into  Wilhelmshaven,"  and  it  is  reported  from  Copen- 
hagen that  the  Pommern  was  not  the  battleship  which  was 
torpedoed  in  the  Baltic  by  a  British  submarine  in  July  last, 
but  a  new  battle  cruiser  which,  after  that  battleship  had 
disappeared,  was  named,  for  territorial  reasons,  after  the 
German  State,  thus  perpetuating  its  association  with  the 
navy.  The  story  of  the  sinking  of  the  dreadnought  battle- 
ship Ostfriesland  awaits  confirmation. 


GERMAN   ADMIRALTY'S    OFFICIAL    REPORT    OF 
BATTLE  OF  THE   SKAGERRAK 

The  German  Admiralty  issued  a  report  June  29  on  the  battle  of  the 
Skagerrak.  In  consequence  of  the  mail  blockade,  the  full  official  document 
has  not  reached  this  country,  but  the  abstract  printed  below,  which  was 
officially  furnished  for  transmission  by  wire,  is  comprehensive. 

The  High  Sea  Fleet,  consisting  of  three  battleship  squad- 
rons, five  battle  cruisers,  and  a  large  number  of  small  cruisers, 
with  several  destroyer  flotillas,  was  cruising  in  the  Skager- 
rak on  May  31  for  the  purpose,  as  on  earlier  occasions,  of 
offering  battle  to  the  British  fleet.  The  vanguard  of  small 
cruisers  at  4 :  30  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  (German  time)  sud- 
denly encountered  ninety  miles  west  of  Hanstholm,  (a  cape 


136  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

on  the  northwest  coast  of  Jutland,)  a  group  of  eight  of  the 
newest  cruisers  of  the  Calliope  class  and  fifteen  or  twenty 
of  the  most  modern  destroyers. 

While  the  German  light  forces  and  the  first  cruiser  squad- 
ron under  Vice  Admiral  Hipper  were  following  the  British, 
who  were  retiring  northwestward,  the  German  battle  cruisers 
sighted  to  the  westward  Vice  Admiral  Beatty's  battle  cruiser 
squadron  of  six  ships,  including  four  of  the  Lion  type  and 
two  of  the  Indefatigable  type.  Beatty's  squadron  developed 
a  battle  line  on  a  southeasterly  course,  and  Vice  Admiral 
Hipper  formed  his  line  ahead  of  the  same  general  course  and 
approached  for  a  running  fight.  He  opened  fire  at  5  :  49 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  with  heavy  artillery  at  a  range  of 
13,000  meters  against  the  superior  enemy.  The  weather 
was  clear  and  light,  and  the  sea  was  light  with  a  northwest 
wind. 

After  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  a  violent  explosion 
occurred  on  the  last  cruiser  of  the  Indefatigable  type.  It  was 
caused  by  a  heavy  shell,  and  destroyed  the  vessel. 

About  6 :  20  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  five  warships  of  the 
Queen  Elizabeth  type  came  from  the  west  and  joined  the 
British  battle  cruiser  line,  powerfully  reinforcing  with  their 
fifteen-inch  guns  the  five  British  battle  cruisers  remaining 
after  6 :  20  o'clock.  To  equalize  this  superiority  Vice  Ad- 
miral Hipper  ordered  the  destroyers  to  attack  the  enemy. 
The  British  destroyers  and  small  cruisers  interposed,  and  a 
bitter  engagement  at  close  range  ensued,  in  the  course  of 
which  a  light  cruiser  participated. 

The  Germans  lost  two  torpedo  boats,  the  crews  of  which 
were  rescued  by  sister  ships  under  a  heavy  fire.  Two  British 
destroyers  were  sunk  by  artillery,  and  two  others  —  the 
Nestor  and  Nomad  —  remained  on  the  scene  in  a  crippled 
condition.  These  later  were  destroyed  by  the  main  fleet 
after  German  torpedo  boats  had  rescued  all  the  survivors. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 37 

While  this  engagement  was  in  progress  a  mighty  explosion, 
caused  by  a  big  shell,  broke  the  Queen  Mary,  the  third  ship 
in  line,  asunder  at  6:30  o'clock. 

Soon  thereafter  the  German  main  battleship  fleet  was 
sighted  to  the  southward,  steering  north.  The  hostile  fast 
squadrons  thereupon  turned  northward,  closing  the  first  part 
of  the  fight,  which  lasted  about  an  hour. 

The  British  retired  at  high  speed  before  the  German  fleet, 
which  followed  closely.  The  German  battle  cruisers  con- 
tinued the  artillery  combat  with  increasing  intensity,  par- 
ticularly with  the  division  of  the  vessels  of  the  Queen  Eliz- 
abeth type,  and  in  this  the  leading  German  battleship  di- 
vision participated  intermittently.  The  hostile  ships  showed 
a  desire  to  run  in  a  flat  curve  ahead  of  the  point  of  our  line 
and  to  cross  it. 

At  7 :  45  o'clock  in  the  evening  British  small  cruisers  and 
destroyers  launched  an  attack  against  our  battle  cruisers, 
who  avoided  the  torpedoes  by  manoeuvring,  while  the 
British  battle  cruisers  retired  from  the  engagement,  in  which 
they  did  not  participate  further,  as  far  as  can  be  established. 
Shortly  thereafter  a  German  reconnoitring  group,  which  was 
parrying  the  destroyer  attack,  received  an  attack  from  the 
northeast.  The  cruiser  Wiesbaden  was  soon  put  out  of 
action  in  this  attack.  The  German  torpedo  flotillas  im- 
mediately attacked  the  heavy  ships. 

Appearing  shadow-like  from  the  haze  bank  to  the  north- 
east was  made  out  a  long  line  of  at  least  twenty-five  battle- 
ships, which  at  first  sought  a  junction  with  the  British 
battle  cruisers  and  those  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  type  on  a 
northwesterly  to  westerly  course  and  then  turned  on  an 
easterly  to  a  southeasterly  course. 

With  the  advent  of  the  British  main  fleet,  whose  centre 
consisted  of  three  squadrons  of  eight  battleships  each,  with 
a  fast  division  of  three  battle  cruisers  of  the  Invincible  type 


138  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

on  the  northern  end,  and  three  of  the  newest  vessels  of  the 
Royal  Sovereign  class,  armed  with  fifteen-inch  guns,  at  the 
southern  end,  there  began  about  8  o'clock  in  the  evening 
the  third  section  of  the  engagement,  embracing  the  combat 
between  the  main  fleets. 

Vice  Admiral  Scheer  determined  to  attack  the  British  main 
fleet,  which,  he  now  recognized,  was  completely  assembled 
and  about  doubly  superior.  The  German  battleship  squad- 
rons, headed  by  battle  cruisers,  steered  first  toward  the 
extensive  haze  bank  to  the  northeast,  where  the  crippled 
cruiser  Wiesbaden  was  still  receiving  a  heavy  fire.  Around 
the  Wiesbaden  stubborn  individual  fights  under  quickly 
changing  conditions  now  occurred. 

The  light  enemy  forces,  supported  by  an  armored  cruiser 
squadron  of  five  ships  of  the  Minatour,  Achilles,  and  Duke 
of  Edinburgh  classes  coming  from  the  northeast,  were  en- 
countered and  apparently  surprised  on  account  of  the 
decreasing  visibility  by  our  battle  cruisers  and  leading 
battleship  division.  The  squadron  came  under  a  violent 
and  heavy  fire,  by  which  the  small  cruisers  Defense  and 
Black  Prince  were  sunk.  The  cruiser  Warrior  regained  its 
own  line  a  wreck  and  later  sank.  Another  small  cruiser 
was  damaged  severely. 

Two  destroyers  already  had  fallen  victims  to  the  attack 
of  German  torpedo  boats  against  the  leading  British  bat- 
tleships, and  a  small  cruiser  and  two  destroyers  were  dam- 
aged. The  German  battle  cruisers  and  leading  battleship 
division  had  in  these  engagements  come  under  increased 
fire  of  the  enemy's  battleship  squadron,  which,  shortly  after 
eight  o'clock,  could  be  made  out  in  the  haze  turning  to  the 
northeastward  and  finally  to  the  east.  Germans  observed, 
amid  the  artillery  combat  and  shelling  of  great  intensity, 
signs  of  the  effect  of  good  shooting  between  8  :  20  and  8  :  30 
o'clock  particularly.     Several  officers  on  German  ships  ob- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  139 

served  that  a  battleship  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  class  blew  up 
under  conditions  similar  to  that  of  the  Queen  Mary.  The 
Invincible  sank  after  being  hit  severely.  A  ship  of  the 
Iron  Duke  class  had  earlier  received  a  torpedo  hit,  and  one 
of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  class  was  running  around  in  a  circle, 
its  steering  apparatus  apparently  having  been  hit. 

The  Liitzow  was  hit  by  at  least  fifteen  heavy  shells  and 
was  unable  to  maintain  its  place  in  line.  Vice  Admiral 
Hipper,  therefore,  transshipped  to  the  Moltke  on  a  torpedo 
boat  and  under  a  heavy  fire.  The  Derfflinger  meantime 
took  the  lead  temporarily.  Parts  of  the  German  torpedo 
flotilla  attacked  the  enemy's  main  fleet  and  heard  detonations. 
In  the  action  the  Germans  lost  a  torpedo  boat.  An  enemy 
destroyer  was  seen  in  a  sinking  condition,  having  been  hit  by 
a  torpedo. 

After  the  first  violent  onslaught  into  the  mass  of  the  su- 
perior enemy  the  opponents  lost  sight  of  each  other  in  the 
smoke  by  powder  clouds.  After  a  short  cessation  in  the 
artillery  combat  Vice  Admiral  Scheer  ordered  a  new  attack 
by  all  the  available  forces. 

German  battle  cruisers,  which  with  several  light  cruisers 
and  torpedo  boats  again  headed  the  line,  encountered  the 
enemy  soon  after  9  o'clock  and  renewed  the  heavy  fire, 
which  was  answered  by  them  from  the  mist,  and  then  by  the 
leading  division  of  the  main  fleet.  Armored  cruisers  now 
flung  themselves  in  a  reckless  onset  at  extreme  speed  against 
the  enemy  line  in  order  to  cover  the  attack  of  torpedo  boats. 
They  approached  the  enemy  line,  although  covered  with 
shot  from  6,000  meters  distance.  Several  German  torpedo 
flotillas  dashed  forward  to  attack,  delivered  torpedoes,  and 
returned,  despite  the  most  severe  counterfire,  with  the  loss 
of  only  one  boat.  The  bitter  artillery  fight  was  again  in- 
terrupted, after  this  second  violent  onslaught,  by  the  smoke 
from  guns  and  funnels. 


I40  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

Several  torpedo  flotillas,  which  were  ordered  to  attack 
somewhat  later,  found,  after  penetrating  the  smoke  cloud, 
that  the  enemy  fleet  was  no  longer  before  them ;  nor,  when 
the  fleet  commander  again  brought  the  German  squadrons 
upon  the  southerly  and  southwesterly  course,  where  the 
enemy  was  last  seen,  could  our  opponents  be  found.  Only 
once  more  —  shortly  before  10:  30  o'clock  —  did  the  battle 
flare  up.  For  a  short  time  in  the  late  twilight  German 
battle  cruisers  sighted  four  enemy  capital  ships  to  seaward 
and  opened  fire  immediately.  As  the  two  German  battle- 
ship squadrons  attacked,  the  enemy  turned  and  vanished 
in  the  darkness.  Older  German  light  cruisers  of  the  fourth 
reconnoissance  group  also  were  engaged  with  the  older  enemy 
armored  cruisers  in  a  short  fight.  This  ended  the  day 
battle. 

The  German  divisions,  which,  after  losing  sight  of  the 
enemy,  began  a  night  cruise  in  a  southerly  direction,  were 
attacked  until  dawn  by  enemy  light  force  in  rapid  succes- 
sion. 

The  attacks  were  favored  by  the  general  strategic  situ- 
ation and  the  particularly  dark  night. 

The  cruiser  Frauenlob  was  injured  severely  during  the 
engagement  of  the  fourth  reconnoissance  group  with  a  su- 
perior cruiser  force,  and  was  lost  from  sight. 

One  armored  cruiser  of  the  Cressy  class  suddenly  appeared 
close  to  a  German  battleship  and  was  shot  into  fire  after 
forty  seconds,  and  sank  in  four  minutes. 

The  Florent,  ( ?)  Destroyer  60,  (the  names  were  hard  to 
decipher  in  the  darkness  and  therefore  were  uncertainly 
established,)  and  four  destroyers  —  3,  78,  06,  and  27  — 
were  destroyed  by  our  fire.  One  destroyer  was  cut  in  two 
by  the  ram  of  a  German  battleship.  Seven  destroyers, 
including  the  G-30,  were  hit  and  severely  damaged.  These, 
including  the  Tipperary  and  Turbulent,  which,  after  saving 


ILLUSTRATIONS  141 

survivors,  were  left  behind  in  a  sinking  condition,  drifted 
past  our  line,  some  of  them  burning  at  the  bow  or  stern. 

The  tracks  of  countless  torpedoes  were  sighted  by  the 
German  ships,  but  only  the  Pommern  (a  battleship)  fell 
an  immediate  victim  to  a  torpedo.  The  cruiser  Rostock 
was  hit,  but  remained  afloat.  The  cruiser  Elbing  was 
damaged  by  a  German  battleship  during  an  unavoidable 
manoeuvre.  After  vain  endeavors  to  keep  the  ship  afloat 
the  Elbing  was  blown  up,  but  only  after  her  crew  had  em- 
barked on  torpedo  boats.  A  post  torpedo  boat  was  struck 
by  a  mine  laid  by  the  enemy. 

[The  report  closes  with  a  summary  of  the  German  losses 
as  already  published.] 


GERMAN   OFFICIAL  ACCOUNT,   BASED   ON 
STATEMENTS   OF   BRITISH   PRISONERS 

A  supplementary  narrative  of  the  battle  of  the  Skagerrak,  in  the 
form  of  a  telegram  based  on  statements  of  177  British  prisoners, 
was  transmitted  officially  on  June  20  by  the  German  Admiralty. 
The  text  is  as  follows : 

The  British  forces  participating  in  the  battle  were  the 
reconnoitring  forces  under  Vice  Admiral  Beatty  and  the 
main  body  of  the  British  Navy  under  Admiral  Jellicoe. 
The  reconnoitring  forces  comprised  six  battle  cruisers  — 
the  flagship  Lion,  the  Queen  Mary,  the  Princess  Royal,  and 
the  Tiger  as  the  first  division,  and  the  Indefatigable  and  the 
flagship  New  Zealand  as  the  second  division.  The  first  di- 
vision was  complete,  but  H.  M.  S.  Australia  of  the  second 
division  was  absent  for  secret  reasons.  Besides  these 
ships,  there  were  under  Beatty's  command  five  swift  bat- 
tleships of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  type  and  a  large  number  of 
small  modern  cruisers,  the  names  of  thirteen  of  which  were 


142  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

verified  by  each  of  the  prisoners.  There  were  also  two  de- 
stroyer flotillas,  comprising  about  forty  destroyers,  among 
which  were  the  most  modern  types. 

The  main  body  of  the  fleet  engaged  in  the  battle  was  com- 
posed of  three  battleship  squadrons  of  from  six  to  eight 
dreadnoughts  each,  one  special  squadron  of  three  of  the  most 
modern  battleships  of  the  Royal  Sovereign  type,  one  division 
formed  by  the  battle  cruisers  Invincible,  Indomitable,  and 
Inflexible,  a  squadron  of  armored  cruisers  comprising  six  ships, 
and  at  least  ten  small  cruisers  and  four  flotillas  of  from  eighty 
to  one  hundred  destroyers. 

When  Beatty  sighted  the  German  reconnoitring  forces 
to  the  east  he  formed  a  middle  line  with  his  six  battle  cruisers 
and  turned  southeast.  The  ships  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth 
type  also  turned  southeast  and  attempted  to  join  the  battle 
cruisers.  Between  5  and  6  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the 
Germans  opened  fire  at  a  distance  of  about  eighteen  kilo- 
meters, [approximately  eleven  miles.]  Shortly  after  6  o'clock 
a  huge  explosion  occurred  on  board  the  Queen  Mary,  mid- 
ships, on  the  port  side.  Two  other  explosions  followed,  and 
the  forward  part  of  the  ship  sank  rapidly.  At  the  fourth  and 
most  severe  explosion  the  entire  ship  sank.  This  was  the 
work  of  from  only  five  to  ten  minutes. 

Scarcely  had  the  Indefatigable  arrived  on  the  scene  of  the 
accident  when  she  was  also  shaken  by  an  explosion.  The 
ship  capsized  and  sank  so  quickly  that  of  the  fourteen  men 
who  were  in  the  fighting  top  only  two  were  rescued.  These 
two  are  apparently  the  only  survivors  of  the  I ndefati gable's 
crew  of  about  1,000.  After  the  sinking  of  these  two  ships 
Admiral  Beatty  signaled  to  the  Thirteenth  British  flotilla 
to  attack  the  German  battle  cruisers.  The  order  was  un- 
derstood only  by  the  nearest  destroyers  and  was  regarded 
by  several  of  the  prisoners  as  a  desperate  resort.  In  this 
attack  the  most  modern  British  destroyers,  the  Nestor  and 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 43 

the  Nomad,  were  sunk.  Their  crews  were  later  rescued  from 
rafts  and  lifeboats  by  German  torpedo  boats. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  ships  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  type 
approached.  The  distance  between  the  British  ships  and 
the  German  cruisers  had  diminished  to  ten  kilometers,  [ap- 
proximately six  miles.]  The  British  battle  cruisers  steamed 
northward  at  high  speed  and  were  soon  out  of  range.  The 
Queen  Elizabeth  type  ships  continued  battle,  turning  north- 
ward in  order  to  "cut  off  the  enemy,"  as  ordered  by  Beatty. 
Soon  one  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  type  ships  left  the  British 
line  with  a  heavy  list.  The  prisoners  state  expressly  that 
it  was  the  Warspite.  The  wireless  sent  by  the  Turbulent 
that  the  Warspite  was  sunk  was  intercepted  by  about  eight 
British  destroyers. 

The  rescued  prisoners  disagree  as  to  the  time  of  Admiral 
Jellicoe's  arrival  with  the  main  body  of  the  fleet.  Prisoners 
from  Jellicoe's  fleet  state  that  they  were  steaming  south- 
ward in  several  columns  when  they  received  Beatty's  first 
wireless  transmitted  by  the  small  cruiser  Galatea.  There- 
upon Jellicoe  gave  the  order  to  continue  southward  at  top 
speed.  The  prisoners  saw  only  the  flames  from  Beatty's 
artillery  when  Jellicoe  turned  north  and  formed  a  line  toward 
the  northwest  and  west.  The  battle  cruisers  of  the  main 
body,  the  Invincible,  the  Indomitable,  and  the  Inflexible, 
were  ahead  with  the  armored  cruisers.  At  this  time  the 
British  battleship  Marlborough  was  hit  by  a  torpedo  which 
is  said  to  have  been  fired  by  a  submarine.  If  so,  the  sub- 
marine must  have  been  British,  since  there  were  no  German 
submarines  in  the  battle. 

A  British  armored  cruiser  attacked  a  large  isolated  German 
ship  which  steered  slowly  southward.  At  the  same  time 
the  British  main  body  opened  fire.  When  the  armored 
cruisers  returned  to  the  main  body,  the  Defense  was  missing. 
By  this  time  the  Warrior  had  large  holes  midships  just  above 


144  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

the  waterline.     Shortly  after  the  British  main  body  entered 
the  battle  a  German  shot  set  fire  to  the  Invincible,  an  ex- 
plosion followed,  and  the  ship  sank.     The  Germans  shot  at 
long  range  and  annihilated  the  destroyer  Acasta,  standing 
near  the  head  of  the  line.     The  reports  of  other  prisoners 
about  the  movements  of  the  British  main  body  until  dark 
conflict.     The  point  on  which  they  agree  is  that  at  dark  the 
British  Navy  steered  northward  in  columns.     The  destroyer 
Tipperary  asked  permission  to  turn  southward  alone  to  at- 
tack the  Germans.     Permission  was  granted,  but  she  en- 
countered the   German  flotilla  and  was  defeated  and  sunk. 
The    survivors    were    rescued    by    the   Germans.     Beatty's 
thirteenth  flotilla  had  failed  to  join  the  battle  cruisers  and 
turned   southward   at  dark.     It  encountered   several    large 
ships  which  it  mistook  for  British.     The  Germans  opened 
fire  and  destroyed  the  Turbulent.     All  the  officers  and  a  part 
of   the   crew   were   lost.     The   survivors   were   rescued   by 
German  torpedo  boats. 

Almost  all  the  British  prisoners  expressed  dissatisfaction 
at  the  fact  that  the  British  made  no  effort  to  rescue  them 
although  almost  all  the  best  British  ships  participated  in 
the  battle.  The  survivors  of  the  Queen  Mary  and  of  the 
Indefatigable  had  been  in  the  water  for  almost  four  hours 
before  they  were  rescued  by  the  Germans.  They  had 
already  given  up  all  hope,  for  nothing  had  been  seen  of  the 
British  ships  for  hours. 

VIVID   STORY  OF  AN  EYEWITNESS 

By  a  British  Naval  Officer 

We,  the  fast  battleships,  were,  as  has  already  been  stated, 
astern  of  the  battle  cruisers  and  had  opened  fire  between  ten 
and  twenty  minutes  of  their  first  shots.     Now  we  all  of  us 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 45 

got  going  hard,  the  battle  cruisers  and  ourselves  against  the 
German  battle  cruisers  and  the  German  High  Sea  Fleet, 
which  had  now  put  in  an  appearance.  So,  in  spite  of  the 
stories  of  the  Germans,  they  were  most  undoubtedly  con- 
siderably superior  to  the  British  force  present,  and  remained 
so  until  the  arrival  of  the  Grand  Fleet  some  hours  later, 
and  yet,  in  spite  of  this  overwhelming  superiority,  they  only 
succeeded  at  this  stage  of  the  battle  in  sinking  two  of  our 
big  ships  at  a  huge  cost  to  themselves,  because  there  can  be 
little  doubt  that  up  to  then  they  got  as  good  as  they  gave 
and  a  bit  more. 

The  firing  now  became  very  general  indeed,  and  the  con- 
tinued roar  and  shriek  of  our  own  guns,  coupled  with  one's 
work,  left  little  opportunity  to  think  about  outside  matters. 
The  only  predominant  thing  I,  in  common  with  others, 
remember  was  the  rapid  bang,  bang,  bang  of  our  smaller 
secondary  armament,  as  we  thought;  but  during  a  lull  we 
discovered  that  this  was  the  German  shell  bursting  on  the 
water  all  round  the  ship  with  so  loud  an  explosion  that  it 
could  be  heard  right  deep  down  in  the  heart  of  the  ship. 
We  were  at  this  time  receiving  a  very  heavy  fire  indeed,  our 
own  battle  cruisers  having  become  disengaged  for  twenty 
minutes  to  half  an  hour,  so  that  the  fire  of  the  whole  Ger- 
man fleet  was  concentrated  on  us.  However,  we  stuck  it, 
and  gave  back  a  good  deal,  I  fancy. 

Especially  unpleasant,  though,  was  a  period  of  half  an  hour 
during  which  we  were  unable  to  see  the  enemy,  while  they 
could  see  us  most  clearly.  Thus  we  were  unable  to  fire  a 
shot  and  had  to  rest  content  with  steaming  through  a  tornado 
of  shell  fire  without  loosing  off  a  gun,  which  was  somewhat 
trying.  However,  about  6 :  30  the  sun  silhouetted  up  the 
Germans  and  completely  turned  the  tables  as  far  as  light  was 
concerned,  and  for  a  period  of  some  twenty  minutes  we 
gave  them  a  most  terrific  dressing  down,  which  we  trust  they 


146  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

will  remember.  Then  down  came  the  mist  again,  and  we 
had  to  close  them  right  down  to  four  miles  in  the  attempt  to 
see  the  enemy,  and  four  miles  is,  of  course,  about  as  near  as 
one  likes  to  get  to  the  foe,  as  torpedoes  then  come  into  play. 

It  was  at  this  stage  that,  owing  to  some  temporary  defect, 
the  Warspite's  helm  jammed,  and  she  went  straight  at 
the  enemy  into  a  hell  of  fire.  She  looked  a  most  wonderful 
sight,  every  gun  firing  for  all  it  was  worth  in  reply.  Luckily 
she  got  under  control  quickly  and  returned  to  the  line,  and 
it  was  this  incident  that  gave  rise  to  the  German  legend 
that  she  had  been  sunk. 

The  action  continued  with  unabated  fury  until  the  arrival 
of  the  Grand  Fleet  somewhere  about  7.  It  was  just  before 
this  that  the  Invincible  had  met  her  fate,  as  also  the  Defense 
and  Black  Prince  —  the  two  latter,  apparently,  in  a  gallant 
attempt  to  save  the  Warrior,  which  was  successful  in  so  far 
that  the  crew  of  the  Warrior  were  saved,  although  the  ship 
had  eventually  to  be  abandoned. 

The  arrival  of  the  Grand  Fleet  relieved  the  tension  upon 
us  somewhat,  and  the  battle  cruiser  force  went  on  ahead, 
while  we  dropped  back,  content  to  let  the  Grand  Fleet  fin- 
ish off  the  work,  but  the  Germans  were  not  "having  any," 
as  they  say  in  America,  and  almost  immediately  turned  to 
run,  pursued  by  our  fleet.  We  were,  of  course,  considerably 
superior  now,  but  it  was  little  use.  For  about  half  an  hour 
the  Grand  Fleet  and  ourselves  were  firing,  during  which 
time  it  is  pretty  certain  that  we  inflicted  very  material  dam- 
age on  the  enemy,  but  after  that  the  failing  light  and  the  very 
evident  desire  of  the  enemy  to  get  away  from  such  unpleasant 
company  rendered  it  impossible  to  turn  an  undoubted  suc- 
cess into  a  certain  and  decisive  victory,  for  by  that  the  navy 
means  annihilation. 

And  at  last,  about  9,  we  discontinued  the  action,  but  con- 
tinued to  follow  them.     Right  through  the  darkness  there 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 47 

were  constant  destroyer  attacks,  and  the  sky  was  lighted 
up  the  whole  night  by  the  flashes  of  the  guns  and  by  fires 
caused  among  the  enemy  by  our  shells.  It  was  in  fact  a  very 
awe-inspiring  sight. 

As  is  known,  the  enemy  succeeded  in  attacking  the  Marl- 
borough, but  fruitlessly,  as  she  returned  to  port,  and  is  no 
doubt  once  more  at  sea. 

We  continued  to  cruise  about  all  night  and  the  next  day, 
offering  battle  to  the  enemy,  but  they  were  scuttling  back  to 
security,  and  we  saw  nothing  of  them,  and  so  finally  returned 
home. 


IV 

TWO    EXPLANATIONS    OF    THE    BATTLE    OF 
JUTLAND 

A  Berlin  dispatch  in  the  Hamburger  Fremdenblatt,  evidently 
with  official  sanction,  offers  the  following  diagrammatic  ex- 
planation of  the  great  naval  engagement  of  May  3 1  in  the  North 
Sea.  The  numbers  in  the  text  refer  to  the  arrows  representing 
the  tactical  moves  of  the  opposing  fleets. 

I.  —  THE    GERMAN    VIEW 

In  its  official  report  of  June  5  the  German  Admiralty  Staff 
has  described  in  brief  outlines  the  victorious  course  of  the 
naval  battle  at  the  Skagerrak.  This  account  is  confirmed  in 
all  details  upon  the  basis  of  the  more  precise  information 
which  has  since  been  received.  The  accompanying  sketches 
illustrate  in  four  periods  the  chief  individual  phases  of  the 
battle,  while  the  accompanying  map  shows  plainly  the  stra- 
tegic importance  of  the  German  victory  for  the  war  position 
in  the  North  Sea. 


148 


FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 


On  May  31,  at  4:  35  p.m.,  our  cruisers  (I,  1),  proceeding 
ahead  of  the  High  Seas  Fleet,  sighted,  seventy  nautical  miles 

to  southwest  of  the 
Skagerrak,  four  small 
English  cruisers  of  the 
Calliope  class  (2), 
which  ran  at  highest 
speed  northward,  pur- 
sued by  our  cruisers. 
At  5  :  30  our  pursu- 
ing cruisers  sight  to 
the  westward  two  fur- 
ther enemy  columns 
(3),  consisting  of  six 
battle  cruisers,  a  con- 
siderable number  of 
small  cruisers  and  de- 
stroyers. Our  cruisers  take  a  course  toward  the  new  op- 
ponent—  this  becoming  a  course  toward  the  south. 

Our  cruisers  (II,  1) 
(compare  also  sketch 
1)  have  advanced  to 
thirteen  kilometers 
from  the  English 
battle  cruisers  and 
destroyers,  which 
meanwhile  have 
moved  southward 
(2),  and  open  fire  on 
southerly  to  south- 
easterly courses.  In 
the  course  of  this  fight 
two  English  battle 
cruisers     and    a    de- 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


149 


stroyer  were  sunk.  After  half  an  hour's  fighting  powerful 
new  enemy  forces  come  in  sight  from  the  north  of  the  enemy ; 
they  prove  to  be  five  ships  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  class  (3). 
At  the  same  time  the  main  German  force  (4)  approaches 
from  the  south  and  intervenes  in  the  fight.  Our  cruisers 
place  themselves  ahead  of  their  own  main  force. 

The  five  big  ships  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth  class  (compare 
sketch  II)  have  attached  themselves  to  the  enemy  cruisers. 
The  whole  combined  nt 

German  fleet  (III,  1) 
is  now  steering  north- 
ward, and  in  face  of 
its  attack  the  enemy 
(2)  immediately  turns 
away  to  the  north, 
and  attempts  at  the 
highest  speed  to 
escape  from  our  ex- 
tremely effective  fire, 
and  at  the  same  time, 
with  an  easterly 
course,  and  employing 
its  speed,  which  is 
superior  to  that  of  our  fleet  as  a  whole,  to  pass  (3)  the 
head  of  our  line,  while  the  German  battleship  squadron  in 
the  rear  of  the  line  cannot  yet  get  into  action  with  the  enemy. 
Our  fleet,  the  cruisers  still  leading,  follows  the  movement  of 
the  enemy  at  highest  speed.  An  English  cruiser  of  the 
Achilles  class  and  two  destroyers  are  sunk.  This  period  of 
the  battle  lasts  some  two  and  a  half  hours. 

Meanwhile,  there  approaches  from  the  north,  presumably 
coming  from  Norwegian  waters,  the  English  main  force, 
consisting  of  more  than  twenty  battleships  (4). 

The  climax  of  the  battle  is  reached.     Toward  10  o'clock 


IS© 


FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 


all  the  German  ships  (IV,  i)  are  together  facing  the  whole  Eng- 
lish fleet.  At  a  distance  of  some  fifteen  nautical  miles  the 
battle  now  pursues  its  course  eastward.  While  the  English 
cruiser  fleet  (2)  continues  its  attempts  to  catch  up  the  head 
of  our  line,  Admiral  Jellicoe  is  striving  to  put  himself  with 
his  large  battleships  (3)  like  the  cross  of  a  T  in  front  of  the 
head  of  our  line.  As  the  head  of  our  line  thus  comes  for  a 
time  under  fire  from  both  sides,  Admiral  Scheer  throws  the 

German  line  round 
on  to  a  westerly 
course,  and  at  the 
same  time  our  tor- 
pedo boat  flotillas 
(marked  with  tri- 
angles in  the  sketch) 
are  ordered  to  attack 
the  enemy,  and  they 
do  so  three  times  in 
succession  with  splen- 
did vigor  and  visible 
success.  A  number 
of  the  large  English 
battleships  suffer  se- 
vere damage,  and  one  sinks  before  our  eyes.  By  these  attacks 
the  English  main  fleet  is  driven  away  to  the  east,  whence  it 
will  afterward  have  taken  a  northwesterly  course  homeward. 
The  German  fleet  ceases  its  violent  cannonade  at  11  :  30,  as 
the  English  had  already  stopped  firing,  and  after  nightfall 
there  was  nothing  but  the  flash  of  their  salvos  to  give  us  a 
target.  As  the  enemy  cannot  be  found  again  the  main 
battle  is  broken  off. 

During  the  night  numerous  cruiser  fights  and  torpedo 
boat  attacks  develop  against  individual  enemy  ships,  which 
either  had  gone  astray  or  had  been  ordered  to  worry  us  and 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


151 


to  cover  the  retreat  of  the  English.  In  these  actions  an 
enemy  battle  cruiser,  a  cruiser  of  the  Achilles  or  Shannon 
class,  several  small  enemy  cruisers,  and  at  least  ten  destroyers 
are  sunk  —  six  of  them  by  the  Westjalen  alone. 


te~¥J     Batt/ef/e/d&  Course  of  Mam  Action 

O v  Course  of  German  f feet's  Advance 

a  * 'Course  of  British  Fleet's  Retreat 

A  squadron  of  English  battleships  came  up  from  the  south, 
but  not  until  June  1,  after  the  battle  was  over,  and  it  turned 
away  without  coming  into  action  or  even  coming  in  sight 
of  the  main  German  force.  It  was  observed  by  one  of  our 
Zeppelins,  which,  as  is  well  known,  owing  to  the  foggy 
weather  on  the  previous  day,  could  not  make  reconnois- 
sances  until  June  1. 


152  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 


II. THE    BRITISH    VIEW 

A  British  naval  authority,  writing  with  official  sanction  for 
The  London  Daily  News,  interprets  Admiral  Jellicoe's  report 
in  a  very  different  diagram  and  commentary : 

Seen  in  its  broadest  aspect,  the  battle  of  Jutland  stands 
out  as  a  case  of  a  tactical  division  of  the  fleet,  which  had 
the  effect  of  bringing  an  unwilling  enemy  to  battle.  Such 
a  method  of  forcing  an  action  is  drastic  and  necessarily- 
attended  with  risk,  but  for  great  ends  great  risks  must  be 
taken 

In  the  present  case  there  was  only  an  appearance  of  di- 
vision. The  battle  fleet  was  to  the  north  and  the  battle 
cruiser  fleet  to  the  south,  but  they  formed  in  fact  one  fleet 
under  a  single  command  acting  in  combination.  They  were 
actually  carrying  out,  as  they  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing 
periodically,  a  combined  sweep  of  the  North  Sea ;  and  Ad- 
miral Beatty's  fleet  was  in  effect  the  observation  or  advanced 
squadron.  The  measure  of  the  risk,  should  he  have  the  for- 
tune to  find  the  enemy  at  sea,  was  the  length  of  the  period 
which  must  necessarily  elapse  before  the  Commander  in 
Chief  would  be  able  to  join  the  battle.  It  was  a  risk  that 
would  be  measured  mainly  by  the  skill  with  which  Admiral 
Beatty  could  entice  the  enemy  northward,  without  being 
overwhelmed  by  superior  force. 

In  the  light  of  this  outstanding  feature  the  action  will 
be  judged,  and  the  handling  of  the  battle  cruiser  fleet  and  the 
splendid  group  of  four  battleships  that  was  attached  to  it 
appraised. 

When  Admiral  Beatty  got  contact  with  the  German  battle 
cruisers  they  were  proceeding  northward  ;  and,  being  inferior 
to  his  force,  they  turned  to  the  southward.  The  inference 
was  they  were  either  trying  to  escape  or  bent  on  leading  him 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


153 


BriHsHBatfUS?5^ 


Britiih,BaffleFl«r 


6^    ^6pBt 

Cruisers         aispmf  V 
jr 

\ 


7pm 
|/  UTTLE  FISHER 
BANK 


1ST 


British  Battle 
_  Fleet  -»— 
BritLsh  Battle 

Cruisers  — s 
Enemyvs  Ships-. 


Hantsl 


JUTLAND 
BANK 


Horn  Eerfa  .        ^*^  / 

Hom-^      GraaDeEp^ 

KnudeDeepx 

Hotio\ 


5» 


June 


This  chart  must  be  taken  as  diagrammatic  only,  and  as  a  general  indication  of  the 
course  of  the  battle  from  the  time  when  the  opposing  battle  cruisers  sighted  each 
other  (3  :  30)  until,  owing  to  the  growing  darkness  and  the  dispersal  of  the  enemy's 
forces,  it  became  impossible  to  continue  the  action  as  an  organized  whole.  Sir  David 
Beatty's  successful  manoeuvre  in  doubling  the  head  of  the  enemy's  line,  and,  rein- 
forced by  the  battle  fleet,  establishing  himself  between  the  Germans  and  the  Danish 
coast,  is  graphically  shown.  The  enemy  was  compelled  not  only  to  make  a  complete 
turn,  but  to  cross  his  original  course  almost  at  right  angles  after  circling,  and  when 
the  battle  proper  came  to  an  end  soon  after  8 :  30  the  bulk  of  the  German  fleet  was 
heading  southwest  into  the  open  sea  with  the  British  fleet  between  it  and  its  bases. 

It  is  amusing  to  recall  that  the  most  "authentic  "  German  plan  of  this  stage  of  the 
battle  shows  one  arrow  stretching  from  Denmark  toward  the  Orkneys  to  indicate 
the  line  of  the  British  retreat,  and  another  from  Heligoland,  pointing  north,  to  repre- 
sent the  Germans  in  chase.  For  comparative  purposes  it  may  be  pointed  out  that 
the  distance  from  Heligoland  to  Blaavand  Point  is  ninety-three  miles.  The  official 
tracks  of  the  British  fleet  end  at  daylight  on  June  1,  but  it  will  be  observed  from  Sir 
John  Jellicoe's  report  that  it  was  not  until  1  :is  p.m.  that  "  course  was  shaped  for  our 
bases." 


154  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

into  danger.  .  .  .  Admiral  Beatty  engaged  and  continued  to 
engage  as  closely  as  he  could  till  he  found  the  enemy's  battle 
fleet  coming  north.  Then  he  turned,  but  he  did  not  break 
off  the  action.  The  enemy  was  in  overwhelming  force,  but 
it  was  his  duty  to  cling  to  them  as  long  as  his  teeth  would 
hold.  .  .  .  He  did  not  flinch,  but  continued  the  fight  to  the 
northward,  and  signaled  the  four  Queen  Elizabeths  to  turn 
sixteen  points. 

Now  was  the  hour  of  greatest  risk,  but  he  was  well  dis- 
posed for  concentrating  on  the  van  of  the  enemy's  line,  and 
the  Commander  in  Chief  was  hurrying  down  at  full  speed. 
For  an  hour  and  a  half  the  unequal  battle  raged  as  Admiral 
Beatty  and  Admiral  Evan-Thomas  led  the  enemy  on,  before 
Admiral  Hood  could  appear  with  his  battle  cruiser  squadron. 
The  action  was  then  at  its  hottest,  but  Admiral  Hood,  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation,  and  in  a  manner  that  excited 
the  high  admiration  of  all  who  were  privileged  to  witness 
it,  placed  his  ships  in  line  ahead  of  Admiral  Beatty's 
squadron.  .  .  . 

With  his  fine  manoeuvre  the  risk  was  in  a  measure  re- 
duced, but  there  still  remained  the  more  delicate  work  of  the 
Grand  Fleet  effecting  its  junction  and  entering  the  ill-defined 
action.  With  the  exact  position  of  the  enemy's  fleet  shrouded 
in  smoke  and  in  the  gathering  mist,  the  danger  of  interfer- 
ence was  very  great,  and  before  the  Commander  in  Chief  lay 
a  task  as  difficult  as  any  Admiral  could  be  called  upon  to 
perform.  To  the  last  moment  he  kept  his  fleet  in  steaming 
order,  so  as  to  preserve  up  till  the  end  the  utmost  freedom  of 
deployment,  but  by  what  precise  manoeuvres  the  deploy- 
ment was  carried  out  must  for  obvious  reasons  be  left  in  a 
mist  as  deep  as  that  which  was  hiding  all  that  was  most  im- 
portant for  him  to  know.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  junction 
was  effected  with  consummate  judgment  and  dexterity.  So 
nicely  was  it  timed  that  the  deployment  was  barely  com- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  155 

pleted  when,  at  6:  15  p.m.,  the  first  battle  squadron  came 
into  action  with  the  enemy,  who  had  by  that  time 
turned  to  the  eastward  and  was  already  attempting  to  avoid 
action. 

Thus  the  fine  combination  had  succeeded,  and  the  unwill- 
ing enemy  had  been  brought  to  action  against  the  concen- 
trated British  fleet.  They  had  fallen  into  the  midst  of  the 
net  which  had  been  drawn  about  them,  but  in  the  plan  of 
the  sweep  there  was  inherent  the  inevitable  limitation  that 
the  time  left  for  completing  the  business  could  but  barely 
suffice.  There  were  hardly  three  hours  of  daylight  left, 
and,  as  darkness  approached,  the  action  must  be  broken  off 
unless  a  needless  chance  were  to  be  given  to  the  enemy  for 
redressing  his  battle  inferiority.  Still  our  battle  fleet  was 
between  the  enemy  and  his  base,  and  there  would  have  been 
little  hope  of  his  escaping  a  decisive  defeat  but  for  the  mist 
that  robbed  those  who  had  prepared  for  the  chance,  and 
those  who  had  seized  it  with  so  much  skill  and  boldness,  of 
the  harvest  they  deserved. 


'      GROUP  TWO 
(To  Accompany  Chapter  II) 
A  DEFENCE  OF   PENNY   DREADFULS1 

By  G.  K.  Chesterton 

One  of  the  strangest  examples  of  the  degree  to  which  or- 
dinary life  is  undervalued  is  the  example  of  popular  liter- 
ature, the  vast  mass  of  which  we  contentedly  describe  as 
vulgar.     The  boy's  novelette  may  be  ignorant  in  a  literan 

1  Reprinted  by  special  permission  of  the  author. 


156  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

sense,  which  is  only  like  saying  that  a  modern  novel  is  ig- 
norant in  the  chemical  sense,  or  the  economic  sense,  or  the 
astronomical  sense;  but  it  is  not  vulgar  intrinsically  —  it  is 
the  actual  centre  of  a  million  flaming  imaginations. 

In  former  centuries  the  educated  class  ignored  the  ruck 
of  vulgar  literature.  They  ignored,  and  therefore  did  not, 
properly  speaking,  despise  it.  Simple  ignorance  and  indif- 
ference does  not  inflate  the  character  with  pride.  A  man 
does  not  walk  down  the  street  giving  a  haughty  twirl  to  his 
moustaches  at  the  thought  of  his  superiority  to  some  variety 
of  deep-sea  fishes.  The  old  scholars  left  the  whole  under- 
world of  popular  compositions  in  a  similar  darkness. 

To-day,  however,  we  have  reversed  this  principle.  We 
do  despise  vulgar  compositions,  and  we  do  not  ignore  them. 
We  are  in  some  danger  of  becoming  petty  in  our  study  of 
pettiness ;  there  is  a  terrible  Circean  law  in  the  background 
that  if  the  soul  stoops  too  ostentatiously  to  examine  any- 
thing it  never  gets  up  again.  There  is  no  class  of  vulgar 
publications  about  which  there  is,  to  my  mind,  more  ut- 
terly ridiculous  exaggeration  and  misconception  than  the 
current  boys'  literature  of  the  lowest  stratum.  This  class 
of  composition  has  presumably  always  existed,  and  must 
exist.  It  has  no  more  claim  to  be  good  literature  than  the 
daily  conversation  of  its  readers  to  be  fine  oratory,  or  the 
lodging-houses  and  tenements  they  inhabit  to  be  sublime 
architecture.  But  people  must  have  conversation,  they 
must  have  houses,  and  they  must  have  stories.  The  simple 
need  for  some  kind  of  ideal  world  in  which  fictitious  persons 
play  an  unhampered  part  is  infinitely  deeper  and  older  than 
the  rules  of  good  art,  and  much  more  important.  Every 
one  of  us  in  childhood  has  constructed  such  an  invisible 
dramatis  persona?,  but  it  never  occurred  to  our  nurses  to 
correct  the  composition  by  careful  comparison  with  Balzac. 
In  the  East  the  professional  story-teller  goes  from  village 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 57 

to  village  with  a  small  carpet ;  and  I  wish  sincerely  that 
any  one  had  the  moral  courage  to  spread  that  carpet  and 
sit  on  it  in  Ludgate  Circus.  But  it  is  not  probable  that 
all  the  tales  of  the  carpet-bearer  are  little  gems  of  original 
artistic  workmanship.  Literature  and  fiction  are  two  en- 
tirely different  things.  Literature  is  a  luxury;  fiction  is  a 
necessity.  A  work  of  art  can  hardly  be  too  short,  for  its 
climax  is  its  merit.  A  story  can  never  be  too  long,  for  its 
conclusion  is  merely  to  be  deplored,  like  the  last  halfpenny  or 
the  last  pipelight.  And  so,  while  the  increase  of  the  artistic 
conscience  tends  in  more  ambitious  works  to  brevity  and 
impressionism,  voluminous  industry  still  marks  the  pro- 
ducer of  the  true  romantic  trash.  There  was  no  end  to  the 
ballads  of  Robin  Hood  ;  there  is  no  end  to  the  volumes  about 
Dick  Deadshot  and  the  Avenging  Nine.  These  two  heroes 
are  deliberately  conceived  as  immortal. 

But  instead  of  basing  all  discussion  of  the  problem  upon 
the  common-sense  recognition  of  this  fact  —  that  the  youth 
of  the  lower  orders  always  has  had  and  always  must  have 
formless  and  endless  romantic  reading  of  some  kind,  and  then 
going  on  to  make  provision  for  its  wholesomeness  —  we  begin, 
generally  speaking,  by  fantastic  abuse  of  this  reading  as  a 
whole  and  indignant  surprise  that  the  errand-boys  under 
discussion  do  not  read  "The  Egoist"  and  "The  Master 
Builder."  It  is  the  custom,  particularly  among  magistrates, 
to  attribute  half  the  crimes  of  the  Metropolis  to  cheap  novel- 
ettes. If  some  grimy  urchin  runs  away  with  an  apple,  the 
magistrate  shrewdly  points  out  that  the  child's  knowledge  that 
apples  appease  hunger  is  traceable  to  some  curious  literary 
researches.  The  boys  themselves,  when  penitent,  frequently 
accuse  the  novelettes  with  great  bitterness,  which  is  only  to 
be  expected  from  young  people  possessed  of  no  little  native 
humour.  If  I  had  forged  a  will,  and  could  obtain  sympathy 
by  tracing  the  incident  to  the  influence  of  Mr.  George  Moore's 


158  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

novels,  I  should  find  the  greatest  entertainment  in  the  di- 
version. At  any  rate,  it  is  firmly  fixed  in  the  minds  of  most 
people  that  gutter-boys,  unlike  everybody  else  in  the  commu- 
nity, find  their  principal  motives  for  conduct  in  printed  books. 

Now  it  is  quite  clear  that  this  objection,  the  objection 
brought  by  magistrates,  has  nothing  to  do  with  literary 
merit.  Bad  story  writing  is  not  a  crime.  Mr.  Hall  Caine 
walks  the  streets  openly,  and  cannot  be  put  in  prison  for  an 
anticlimax.  The  objection  rests  upon  the  theory  that  the 
tone  of  the  mass  of  boys'  novelettes  is  criminal  and  de- 
graded, appealing  to  low  cupidity  and  low  cruelty.  This  is 
the  magisterial  theory,  and  this  is  rubbish. 

So  far  as  I  have  seen  them,  in  connection  with  the  dirtiest 
book-stalls  in  the  poorest  districts,  the  facts  are  simply 
these :  The  whole  bewildering  mass  of  vulgar  juvenile  liter- 
ature is  concerned  with  adventures,  rambling,  disconnected, 
and  endless.  It  does  not  express  any  passion  of  any  sort, 
for  there  is  no  human  character  of  any  sort.  It  runs  eter- 
nally in  certain  grooves  of  local  and  historical  type :  the 
medieval  knight,  the  eighteenth-century  duellist,  and  the 
modern  cowboy  recur  with  the  same  stiff  simplicity  as  the 
conventional  human  figures  in  an  Oriental  pattern.  I  can 
quite  as  easily  imagine  a  human  being  kindling  wild  ap- 
petites by  the  contemplation  of  his  Turkey  carpet  as  by  such 
dehumanised  and  naked  narrative  as  this. 

Among  these  stories  there  are  a  certain  number  which 
deal  sympathetically  with  the  adventures  of  robbers,  out- 
laws, and  pirates,  which  present  in  a  dignified  and  romantic 
light  thieves  and  murderers  like  Dick  Turpin  and  Claude 
Duval.  That  is  to  say,  they  do  precisely  the  same  thing  as 
Scott's  "  Ivanhoe,"  Scott's  "  Rob  Roy,"  Scott's  "  Lady  of 
the  Lake,"  Byron's  "  Corsair,"  Wordsworth's  "  Rob  Roy's 
Grave,"  Stevenson's  "Macaire,"  Mr.  Max  Pemberton's 
"  Iron  Pirate,"   and   a   thousand    more    works    distributed 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 59 

systematically  as  prizes  and  Christmas  presents.  Nobody 
imagines  that  an  admiration  of  Locksley  in  "  Ivanhoe," 
will  lead  a  boy  to  shoot  Japanese  arrows  at  the  deer  in 
Richmond  Park;  no  one  thinks  that  the  incautious  opening 
of  Wordsworth  at  the  poem  on  Rob  Roy  will  set  him  up 
for  life  as  a  blackmailer.  In  the  case  of  our  own  class,  we 
recognise  that  this  wild  life  is  contemplated  with  pleasure 
by  the  young,  not  because  it  is  like  their  own  life,  but  be- 
cause it  is  different  from  it.  It  might  at  least  cross  our 
minds  that,  for  whatever  other  reason  the  errand-boy  reads 
"The  Red  Revenge,"  it  really  is  not  because  he  is  dripping 
with  the  gore  of  his  own  friends  and  relatives. 

In  this  matter,  as  in  all  such  matters,  we  lose  our  bearings 
entirely  by  speaking  of  the  "lower  classes"  when  we  mean 
humanity  minus  ourselves.  This  trivial  romantic  literature 
is  not  especially  plebeian  :  it  is  simply  human.  The  phi- 
lanthropist can  never  forget  classes  and  callings.  He  says, 
with  a  modest  swagger,  "I  have  invited  twenty-five  factory 
hands  to  tea."  If  he  said,  "I  have  invited  twenty-five 
chartered  accountants  to  tea,"  every  one  would  see  the 
humor  of  so  simple  a  classification.  But  this  is  what  we 
have  done  with  this  lumberland  of  foolish  writing :  we  have 
probed,  as  if  it  were  some  monstrous  new  disease,  what  is, 
in  fact,  nothing  but  the  foolish  and  valiant  heart  of  man. 
Ordinary  men  will  always  be  sentimentalists :  for  a  sen- 
timentalist is  simply  a  man  who  has  feelings  and  does  not 
trouble  to  invent  a  new  way  of  expressing  them.  These 
common  and  current  publications  have  nothing  essentially 
evil  about  them.  They  express  the  sanguine  and  heroic 
truisms  on  which  civilisation  is  built;  for  it  is  clear  that 
unless  civilisation  is  built  on  truisms,  it  is  not  built  at  all. 
Clearly,  there  could  be  no  safety  for  a  society  in  which 
the  remark  by  the  Chief  Justice  that  murder  was  wrong 
was  regarded  as  an  original  and  dazzling  epigram. 


l6o  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

If  the  authors  and  publishers  of  "Dick  Deadshot,"  and  such 
remarkable  works,  were  suddenly  to  make  a  raid  upon  the 
educated  class,  were  to  take  down  the  names  of  every  man, 
however  distinguished,  who  was  caught  at  a  University 
Extension  Lecture,  were  to  confiscate  all  our  novels  and 
warn  us  all  to  correct  our  lives,  we  should  be  seriously  an- 
noyed. Yet  they  have  far  more  right  to  do  so  than  we; 
for  they,  with  all  their  idiotcy,  are  normal  and  we  are 
abnormal.  It  is  the  modern  literature  of  the  educated,  not 
of  the  uneducated,  which  is  avowedly  and  aggressively  crim- 
inal. Books  recommending  profligacy  and  pessimism,  at 
which  the  high-souled  errand-boy  would  shudder,  lie  upon 
all  our  drawing-room  tables.  If  the  dirtiest  old  owner  of 
the  dirtiest  old  bookstall  in  Whitechapel  dared  to  display 
works  really  recommending  polygamy  or  suicide,  his  stock 
would  be  seized  by  the  police.  These  things  are  our  lux- 
uries. And  with  a  hypocrisy  so  ludicrous  as  to  be  almost 
unparalleled  in  history,  we  rate  the  gutter-boys  for  their 
immorality  at  the  very  time  that  we  are  discussing  (with 
equivocal  German  professors)  whether  morality  is  valid  at 
all.  At  the  very  instant  that  we  curse  the  Penny  Dreadful 
for  encouraging  thefts  upon  property,  we  canvass  the  prop- 
osition that  all  property  is  theft.  At  the  very  instant  we 
accuse  it  (quite  unjustly)  of  lubricity  and  indecency,  we  are 
cheerfully  reading  philosophies  which  glory  in  lubricity  and 
indecency.  At  the  very  instant  that  we  charge  it  with  en- 
couraging the  young  to  destroy  life,  we  are  placidly  dis- 
cussing whether  life  is  worth  preserving. 

But  it  is  we  who  are  the  morbid  exceptions;  it  is  we  who 
are  the  criminal  class.  This  should  be  our  great  comfort. 
The  vast  mass  of  humanity,  with  their  vast  mass  of  idle 
books  and  idle  words,  have  never  doubted  and  never  will 
doubt  that  courage  is  splendid,  that  fidelity  is  noble,  that 
distressed  ladies  should  be  rescued,  and  vanquished  enemies 


ILLUSTRATIONS  l6l 

spared.  There  are  a  large  number  of  cultivated  persons  who 
doubt  these  maxims  of  daily  life,  just  as  there  are  a  large 
number  of  persons  who  believe  they  are  the  Prince  of  Wales  ; 
and  I  am  told  that  both  classes  of  people  are  entertaining 
conversationalists.  But  the  average  man  or  boy  writes 
daily  in  these  great  gaudy  diaries  of  his  soul,  which  we  call 
Penny  Dreadfuls,  a  plainer  and  better  gospel  than  any  of 
those  iridescent  ethical  paradoxes  that  the  fashionable 
change  as  often  as  their  bonnets.  It  may  be  a  very  limited 
aim  in  morality  to  shoot  a  "many-faced  and  fickle  traitor," 
but  at  least  it  is  a  better  aim  than  to  be  a  many-faced  and 
fickle  traitor,  which  is  a  simple  summary  of  a  good  many 
modern  systems  from  Mr.  d'Annunzio's  downwards.  So 
long  as  the  coarse  and  thin  texture  of  mere  current  popular 
romance  is  not  touched  by  a  paltry  culture  it  will  never  be 
vitally  immoral.  It  is  always  on  the  side  of  life.  The  poor 
—  the  slaves  who  really  stoop  under  the  burden  of  life  — 
have  often  been  mad,  scatter-brained,  and  cruel,  but  never 
hopeless.  That  is  a  class  privilege,  like  cigars.  Their  driv- 
elling literature  will  always  be  a  "blood  and  thunder"  lit- 
erature, as  simple  as  the  thunder  of  heaven  and  the  blood 
of  men. 


THE    CASE    OF   THE    FORGOTTEN    MAN1 

By  William  Graham  Sumner 

There  is  a  beautiful  notion  afloat  in  our  literature  and 
in  the  minds  of  our  people  that  men  are  born  to  certain 
"natural  rights."  If  that  were  true,  there  would  be  some- 
thing on  earth  which  was  got  for  nothing,  and  this  world 
would  not  be  the  place  it  is  at  all.     The  fact  is,  that  there  is 

1  Reprinted  by  special  permission  of  the  Yale  University  Press. 
M 


1 62  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

no  right  whatever  inherited  by  man  which  has  not  an  equiv- 
alent and  corresponding  duty  by  the  side  of  it.  The  rights, 
advantages,  capital,  knowledge,  and  all  other  goods  which 
we  inherit  from  past  generations  have  been  won  by  the  strug- 
gles and  sufferings  of  past  generations ;  and  the  fact  that  the 
race  lives,  though  men  die,  and  that  the  race  can  by  heredity 
accumulate  within  some  cycle  its  victories  over  nature,  is 
one  of  the  facts  which  make  civilization  possible.  The 
struggles  of  the  race  as  a  whole  produce  the  possessions  of 
the  race  as  a  whole.  Something  for  nothing  is  not  to  be 
found  on  earth. 

If  there  were  such  things  as  natural  rights,  the  question 
would  arise,  Against  whom  are  they  good  ?  Who  has  the 
corresponding  obligation  to  satisfy  these  rights  ?  There 
can  be  no  rights  against  nature,  except  to  get  out  of  her 
whatever  we  can,  which  is  only  the  fact  of  the  struggle  for 
existence  stated  over  again.  The  common  assertion  is  that 
the  rights  are  good  against  society ;  that  is,  that  society  is 
bound  to  obtain  and  secure  them  for  the  persons  interested. 
Society,  however,  is  only  the  persons  interested  plus  some 
other  persons;  and  as  the  persons  interested  have  by  the 
hypothesis  failed  to  win  the  rights,  we  come  to  this,  that 
natural  rights  are  the  claims  which  certain  persons  have 
by  prerogative  against  some  other  persons.  Such  is  the 
actual  interpretation  in  practice  of  natural  rights  —  claims 
which  some  people  have  by  prerogative  on  other  people. 

This  theory  is  a  very  far-reaching  one,  and  of  course  it  is 
adequate  to  furnish  a  foundation  for  a  whole  social  philos- 
ophy. In  its  widest  extension  it  comes  to  mean  that  if 
any  man  finds  himself  uncomfortable  in  this  world  it  must 
be  somebody  else's  fault,  and  that  somebody  is  bound  to  come 
and  make  him  comfortable.  Now  the  people  who  are  most 
uncomfortable  in  this  world  —  for  if  we  should  tell  all  our 
troubles  it  would  not  be  found  to  be  a  very  comfortable  world 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 63 

for  anybody  —  are  those  who  have  neglected  their  duties, 
and  consequently  have  failed  to  get  their  rights.  The  people 
who  can  be  called  upon  to  serve  the  uncomfortable  must  be 
those  who  have  done  their  duty,  as  the  world  goes,  tolerably 
well.  Consequently  the  doctrine  which  we  are  discussing 
turns  out  to  be  in  practice  only  a  scheme  for  making  injus- 
tice prevail  in  human  society  by  reversing  the  distribution 
of  rewards  and  punishments  between  those  who  have  done 
their  duty  and  those  who  have  not. 

We  are  constantly  preached  at  by  our  public  teachers  as 
if  respectable  people  were  to  blame  because  some  people 
are  not  respectable  —  as  if  the  man  who  has  done  his  duty 
in  his  own  sphere  was  responsible  in  some  way  for  another 
man  who  has  not  done  his  duty  in  his  sphere.  There  are 
relations  of  employer  and  employee  which  need  to  be  regu- 
lated by  compromise  and  treaty.  There  are  sanitary  pre- 
cautions which  need  to  be  taken  in  factories  and  houses. 
There  are  precautions  against  fire  which  are  necessary. 
There  is  care  needed  that  children  be  not  employed  too 
young,  and  that  they  have  an  education.  There  is  care 
needed  that  banks,  insurance  companies,  and  railroads  be 
well  managed,  and  that  officers  do  not  abuse  their  trusts. 
There  is  a  duty  in  each  case  on  the  interested  parties  to 
defend  their  own  interest.  The  penalty  of  neglect  is  suffer- 
ing. The  system  of  providing  for  these  things  by  boards 
and  inspectors  throws  the  cost  of  it,  not  on  the  interested 
parties,  but  on  the  tax-payers.  Some  of  them,  no  doubt,  are 
the  interested  parties,  and  they  may  consider  that  they  are 
exercising  the  proper  care  by  paying  taxes  to  support  an 
inspector.  If  so,  they  only  get  their  fair  deserts  when  the 
railroad  inspector  finds  out  that  a  bridge  is  not  safe  after  it 
is  broken  down,  or  when  the  bank  examiner  comes  in  to 
find  out  why  a  bank  failed  after  the  cashier  has  stolen  all 
the  funds.     The  real  victim  is  the  Forgotten  Alan  again  — 


164  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

the  man  who  has  watched  his  own  investments,  made  his 
own  machinery  safe,  attended  to  his  own  plumbing,  and 
educated  his  own  children,  and  who,  just  when  he  wants  to 
enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  care,  is  told  that  it  is  his  duty  to  go 
and  take  care  of  some  of  his  negligent  neighbors,  or,  if  he 
does  not  go,  to  pay  an  inspector  to  go.  No  doubt  it  is  often 
his  interest  to  go  or  to  send,  rather  than  to  have  the  matter 
neglected,  on  account  of  his  own  connection  with  the  thing 
neglected  and  his  own  secondary  peril ;  but  the  point  now  is, 
that  if  preaching  and  philosophizing  can  do  any  good  in  the 
premises,  it  is  all  wrong  to  preach  to  the  Forgotten  Man 
that  it  is  his  duty  to  go  and  remedy  other  people's  neglect. 
It  is  not  his  duty.  It  is  a  harsh  and  unjust  burden  which 
is  laid  upon  him,  and  it  is  only  the  more  unjust  because  no 
one  thinks  of  him  when  laying  the  burden  so  that  it  falls 
on .  him.  The  exhortations  ought  to  be  expended  on  the 
negligent  —  that  they  take  care  of  themselves. 

It  is  an  especially  vicious  extension  of  the  false  doctrine 
above  mentioned  that  criminals  have  some  sort  of  a  right 
against  or  claim  on  society.  Many  reformatory  plans  are 
based  on  a  doctrine  of  this  kind  when  they  are  urged  upon 
the  public  conscience.  A  criminal  is  a  man  who,  instead 
of  working  with  and  for  the  society,  has  turned  against  it 
and  become  destructive  and  injurious.  His  punishment 
means  that  society  rules  him  out  of  its  membership  and  sep- 
arates him  from  its  association,  by  execution  or  imprison- 
ment, according  to  the  gravity  of  his  offense.  He  has  no 
claims  against  society  at  all.  What  shall  be  done  with  him 
is  a  question  of  expediency  to  be  settled  in  view  of  the  in- 
terests of  society  —  that  is,  of  the  non-criminals.  The 
French  writers  of  the  school  of  '48  used  to  represent  the 
badness  of  the  bad  men  as  the  fault  of  "society."  As  the 
object  of  this  statement  was  to  show  that  the  badness  of 
the  bad  men  was  not  the  fault  of  the  bad  men,  and  as  society 


ILLUSTRATIONS  165 

contains  only  good  men  and  bad  men,  it  followed  that  the 
badness  of  the  bad  men  was  the  fault  of  the  good  men.  On 
that  theory  of  course  the  good  men  owed  a  great  deal  to  the 
bad  men  who  were  in  prison  and  at  the  galleys  on  their  ac- 
count. If  we  do  not  admit  that  theory,  it  behooves  us  to 
remember  that  any  claim  which  we  allow  to  the  criminal 
against  the  "state"  is  only  so  much  burden  laid  upon  those 
who  have  never  cost  the  State  anything  for  discipline  or 
correction.  The  punishments  of  society  are  just,  like  those 
of  God  and  nature  —  they  are  warnings  to  the  wrong-doer 
to  reform  himself. 

When  public  offices  are  to  be  filled  numerous  candidates 
at  once  appear.  Some  are  urged  on  the  ground  that  they 
are  poor,  or  cannot  earn  a  living,  or  want  support  while 
getting  an  education,  or  have  female  relatives  dependent  on 
them,  or  are  in  poor  health,  or  belong  in  a  particular  dis- 
trict, or  are  related  to  certain  persons,  or  have  done  meri- 
torious service  in  some  other  line  of  work  than  that  which 
they  apply  to  do.  The  abuses  of  the  public  service  are  to  be 
condemned  on  account  of  the  harm  to  the  public  interest, 
but  there  is  an  incidental  injustice  of  the  same  general  char- 
acter with  that  which  we  are  discussing.  If  an  office  is 
granted  by  favoritism  or  for  any  personal  reason  to  A,  it 
cannot  be  given  to  B.  If  an  office  is  filled  by  a  person  who 
is  unfit  for  it,  he  always  keeps  out  somebody  somewhere 
who  is  fit  for  it;  that  is,  the  social  injustice  has  a  victim 
in  an  unknown  person  —  the  Forgotten  Man  —  and  he 
is  some  person  who  has  no  political  influence,  and  who 
has  known  no  way  in  which  to  secure  the  chances  of  life 
except  to  deserve  them.  He  is  passed  by  for  the  noisy, 
pushing,  importunate,  and  incompetent. 

I  have  said  elsewhere,  disparagingly,  something  about 
the  popular  rage  against  combined  capital,  corporations,  cor- 
ners, selling  futures,  etc.     The  popular  rage  is  not  without 


1 66  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

reason,  but  it  is  sadly  misdirected,  and  the  real  things  which 
deserve  attack  are  thriving  all  the  time.  The  greatest  social 
evil  with  which  we  have  to  contend  is  jobbery.  What- 
ever there  is  in  legislative  charters,  watering  stocks,  and  so 
on  which  is  objectionable  comes  under  the  head  of  jobbery. 
Jobbery  is  any  scheme  which  aims  to  gain,  not  by  the  legiti- 
mate fruits  of  industry  and  enterprise,  but  by  extorting  from 
somebody  a  part  of  his  product  under  guise  of  some  pre- 
tended industrial  undertaking.  Of  course  it  is  only  a  modi- 
fication when  the  undertaking  in  question  has  some  legitimate 
character,  but  the  occasion  is  used  to  graft  upon  it  devices 
for  obtaining  what  has  not  been  earned.  Jobbery  is  the 
vice  of  plutocracy,  and  it  is  the  especial  form  under  which 
plutocracy  corrupts  a  democratic  and  republican  form  of 
government.  The  United  States  is  deeply  afflicted  with  it, 
and  the  problem  of  civil  liberty  here  is  to  conquer  it.  It 
affects  everything  which  we  really  need  to  have  done  to 
such  an  extent  that  we  have  to  do  without  public  objects 
which  we  need  through  fear  of  jobbery.  Our  public  build- 
ings are  jobs  —  not  always,  but  often.  They  are  not  needed, 
or  are  costly  beyond  all  necessity  or  even  decent  luxury. 
Internal  improvements  are  jobs.  They  are  not  made  be- 
cause they  are  needed  to  meet  needs  which  have  been  ex- 
perienced. They  are  made  to  serve  private  ends,  often  in- 
cidentally the  political  interests  of  the  persons  who  vote  the 
appropriations.  Pensions  have  become  jobs.  In  England 
pensions  used  to  be  given  to  aristocrats,  because  aristocrats 
had  political  influence,  in  order  to  corrupt  them.  Here  pen- 
sions are  given  to  the  great  democratic  mass,  because  they 
have  political  power,  to  corrupt  them.  Instead  of  going  out 
where  there  is  plenty  of  land  and  making  a  farm  there, 
some  people  go  down  under  the  Mississippi  River  to  make 
a  farm,  and  then  they  want  to  tax  all  the  people  in  the 
United   States   to  make  dikes   to  keep   the  river  off  their 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 67 

farms.  The  California  gold-miners  have  washed  out  gold 
and  have  washed  the  dirt  down  into  the  rivers  and  on  the 
farms  below.  They  want  the  Federal  Government  to  clean 
out  the  rivers  now  and  restore  the  farms.  The  silver- 
miners  found  their  product  declining  in  value  and  they 
got  the  Federal  Government  to  go  into  the  market  and 
buy  what  the  public  did  not  want,  in  order  to  sustain,  as 
they  hoped,  the  price  of  silver.  The  Federal  Government  is 
called  upon  to  buy  or  hire  unsalable  ships,  to  build  canals 
which  will  not  pay,  to  furnish  capital  for  all  sorts  of  ex- 
periments, and  to  provide  capital  for  enterprises  of  which 
private  individuals  will  win  the  profits.  All  this  is  called 
"developing  our  resources,"  but  it  is,  in  truth,  the  great 
plan  of  all  living  on  each  other. 

The  greatest  job  of  all  is  a  protective  tariff.  It  includes 
the  biggest  log-rolling  and  the  widest  corruption  of  economic 
and  political  ideas.  It  was  said  that  there  would  be  a  re- 
bellion if  the  taxes  were  not  taken  off  whisky  and  tobacco, 
which  taxes  were  paid  into  the  public  Treasury.  Just  then 
the  importations  of  Sumatra  tobacco  became  important 
enough  to  affect  the  market.  The  Connecticut  tobacco- 
growers  at  once  called  for  an  import  duty  on  tobacco  which 
would  keep  up  the  price  of  their  product.  So  it  appears 
that  if  the  tax  on  tobacco  is  paid  to  the  Federal  Treasury 
there  will  be  a  rebellion,  but  if  it  is  paid  to  the  Connecticut 
tobacco-raisers  there  will  be  no  rebellion  at  all.  The  farm- 
ers have  long  paid  tribute  to  the  manufacturers ;  now  the 
manufacturing  and  other  laborers  are  to  pay  tribute  to  the 
farmers.  The  system  is  made  more  comprehensive  and 
complete  and  we  are  all  living  on  each  other  more  than  ever. 

Now  the  plan  of  plundering  each  other  produces  nothing. 
It  only  wastes.  All  the  material  over  which  the  protected 
interests  wrangle  and  grab  must  be  got  from  somebody  out- 
side of  their  circle.     The  talk  is  all  about  the  American 


168  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

laborer  and  American  industry,  but  in  every  case  in  which 
there  is  not  an  actual  production  of  wealth  by  industry 
there  are  two  laborers  and  two  industries  to  be  considered  — 
the  one  who  gets  and  the  one  who  gives.  Every  protected 
industry  has  to  plead,  as  the  major  premise  of  its  argument, 
that  any  industry  which  does  not  pay  ought  to  be  carried  on 
at  the  expense  of  the  consumers  of  the  product,  and  as  its 
minor  premise,  that  the  industry  in  question  does  not  pay; 
that  is,  that  it  cannot  reproduce  a  capital  equal  in  value  to 
that  which  it  consumes  plus  the  current  rate  of  profit.  Hence 
2very  such  industry  must  be  a  parasite  on  some  other  in- 
dustry. What  is  the  other  industry  ?  Who  is  the  other 
man  ?     This,  the  real  question,  is  always  overlooked. 

In  all  jobbery  the  case  is  the  same.  There  is  a  victim 
somewhere  who  is  paying  for  it  all.  The  doors  of  waste 
and  extravagance  stand  open,  and  there  seems  to  be  a 
general  agreement  to  squander  and  spend.  It  all  belongs 
to  somebody.  There  is  somebody  who  had  to  contribute 
it  and  who  will  have  to  find  more.  Nothing  is  ever  said 
about  him.  Attention  is  all  absorbed  by  the  clamorous 
interests,  the  importunate  petitioners,  the  plausible  schemers, 
the  pitiless  bores.  Now,  who  is  the  victim  ?  He  is  the 
Forgotten  Man.  If  we  go  to  find  him,  we  shall  find  him 
hard  at  work  tilling  the  soil  to  get  out  of  it  the  fund  for  all 
the  jobbery,  the  object  of  all  the  plunder,  the  cost  of  all 
the  economic  quackery,  and  the  pay  of  all  the  politicians  and 
statesmen  who  have  sacrificed  his  interests  to  his  enemies. 
We  shall  find  him  an  honest,  sober,  industrious  citizen,  un- 
known outside  his  little  circle,  paying  his  debts  and  his 
taxes,  supporting  the  church  and  the  school,  reading  his 
party  newspaper,  and  cheering  for  his  pet  politician. 

We  must  not  overlook  the  fact  that  the  Forgotten  Man, 
is  not  infrequently  a  woman.  I  have  before  me  a  newspaper 
which  contains  five  letters  from  corset-stitchers  who  com- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 69 

plain  that  they  cannot  earn  more  than  seventy-five  cents 
a  day  with  a  machine  and  that  they  have  to  provide  the 
thread.  The  tax  on  the  grade  of  thread  used  by  them  is  pro- 
hibitory as  to  all  importation,  and  it  is  the  corset-stitchers 
who  have  to  pay  day  by  day  out  of  their  time  and  labor  the 
total  enhancement  of  price  due  to  the  tax.  Women  who 
earn  their  own  living  probably  earn  on  an  average  seventy- 
five  cents  per  day  of  ten  hours.  Twenty-four  minutes' 
work  ought  to  buy  a  spool  of  thread  at  the  retail  price,  if 
the  American  work-woman  were  allowed  to  exchange  her 
labor  for  thread  on  the  best  terms  that  the  art  and  com- 
merce of  to-day  would  allow ;  but  after  she  has  done  twenty- 
four  minutes'  work  for  the  thread  she  is  forced  by  the  laws 
of  her  country  to  go  back  and  work  sixteen  minutes  longer 
to  pay  the  tax  —  that  is,  to  support  the  thread-mill.  The 
thread-mill,  therefore,  is  not  an  institution  for  getting  thread 
for  the  American  people,  but  for  making  thread  harder  to 
get  than  it  would  be  if  there  were  no  such  institution. 

In  justification,  now,  of  an  arrangement  so  monstrously 
unjust  and  out  of  place  in  a  free  country,  it  is  said  that 
the  employes  in  the  thread-mill  get  high  wages  and  that, 
but  for  the  tax,  American  laborers  must  come  down  to  the 
low  wages  of  foreign  thread-makers.  It  is  not  true  that 
American  thread-makers  get  any  more  than  the  market 
rate  of  wages,  and  they  would  not  get  less  if  the  tax  were 
entirely  removed,  because  the  market  rate  of  wages  in  the 
United  States  would  be  controlled  then,  as  it  is  now,  by  the 
supply  and  demand  of  laborers  under  the  natural  advan- 
tages and  opportunities  of  industry  in  this  country.  It 
makes  a  great  impression  on  the  imagination,  however,  to  go 
to  a  manufacturing  town  and  see  great  mills  and  a  crowd  of 
operatives  ;  and  such  a  sight  is  put  forward,  under  the  special 
allegation  that  it  would  not  exist  but  for  a  protective  tax, 
as  a  proof  that  protective  taxes  are  wise.     But  if  it  be  true 


170  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

that  the  thread-mill  would  not  exist  but  for  the  tax,  then 
how  can  we  form  a  judgment  as  to  whether  the  protec- 
tive system  is  wise  or  not  unless  we  call  to  mind  all  the 
seamstresses,  washer-women,  servants,  factory-hands,  sales- 
women, teachers,  and  laborers'  wives  and  daughters,  scattered 
in  the  garrets  and  tenements  of  great  cities  and  in  cottages 
all  over  the  country,  who  are  paying  the  tax  which  keeps  the 
mill  going  and  pays  the  extra  wages  ?  If  the  sewing-women, 
teachers,  servants,  and  washer-women  could  once  be  col- 
lected over  against  the  thread-mill,  then  some  inferences 
could  be  drawn  which  would  be  worth  something.  Then 
some  light  might  be  thrown  upon  the  obstinate  fallacy  of 
"creating  an  industry"  and  we  might  begin  to  understand  the 
difference  between  wanting  thread  and  wanting  a  thread- 
mill.  Some  nations  spend  capital  on  great  palaces,  others 
on  standing  armies,  others  on  iron-clad  ships  of  war.  Those 
things  are  all  glorious  and  strike  the  imagination  with  great 
force  when  they  are  seen,  but  no  one  doubts  that  they 
make  life  harder  for  the  scattered  insignificant  peasants  and 
laborers  who  have  to  pay  for  them  all.  They  "support 
a  great  many  people,"  they  "make  work,"  they  "give  em- 
ployment to  other  industries."  We  Americans  have  no 
palaces,  armies,  or  iron-clads,  but  we  spend  our  earnings  on 
protected  industries.  A  big  protected  factory,  if  it  really 
needs  the  protection  for  its  support,  is  a  heavier  load  for  the 
Forgotten  Men  and  Women  than  an  iron-clad  ship  of  war 
in  time  of  peace. 

It  is  plain  that  the  Forgotten  Man  and  the  Forgotten 
Woman  are  the  real  productive  strength  of  the  country. 
The  Forgotten  Man  works  and  votes  —  generally  he  prays 
—  but  his  chief  business  in  life  is  to  pay.  His  name  never 
gets  into  the  newspapers  except  when  he  marries  or  dies. 
He  is  an  obscure  man.  He  may  grumble  sometimes  to  his 
wife,  but  he  does  not  frequent  the  grocery,  and  he  does  not 


ILLUSTRATIONS  171 

talk  politics  at  the  tavern.  So  he  is  forgotten.  Yet  who  is 
there  whom  the  statesman,  economist,  and  social  philosopher 
ought  to  think  of  before  this  man  ?  If  any  student  of  social 
science  comes  to  appreciate  the  case  of  the  Forgotten  Man, 
he  will  become  an  unflinching  advocate  of  strict  scientific 
thinking  in  sociology  and  a  hard-hearted  skeptic  as  regards 
any  scheme  of  social  amelioration.  He  will  always  want  to 
know,  Who  and  where  is  the  Forgotten  Man  in  this  case, 
who  will  have  to  pay  for  it  all  ? 

The  Forgotten  Man  is  not  a  pauper.  It  belongs  to  his 
character  to  save  something.  Hence  he  is  a  capitalist, 
though  never  a  great  one.  He  is  a  "poor"  man  in  the 
popular  sense  of  the  word,  but  not  in  a  correct  sense.  In 
fact,  one  of  the  most  constant  and  trustworthy  signs  that  the 
Forgotten  Man  is  in  danger  of  a  new  assault  is  that  "the 
poor  man"  is  brought  into  the  discussion.  Since  the  For- 
gotten Man  has  some  capital,  anyone  who  cares  for  his  in- 
terest will  try  to  make  capital  secure  by  securing  the  invio- 
lability of  contracts,  the  stability  of  currency,  and  the 
firmness  of  credit.  Anyone,  therefore,  who  cares  for  the 
Forgotten  Man  will  be  sure  to  be  considered  a  friend  of  the 
capitalist  and  an  enemy  of  the  poor  man. 

It  is  the  Forgotten  Man  who  is  threatened  by  every  ex- 
tension of  the  paternal  theory  of  government.  It  is  he  who 
must  work  and  pay.  When,  therefore,  the  statesmen  and 
social  philosophers  sit  down  to  think  what  the  state  can  do 
or  ought  to^  do,  they  really  mean  to  decide  what  the  For- 
gotten Man  shall  do.  What  the  Forgotten  Man  wants,  there- 
fore, is  a  fuller  realization  of  constitutional  liberty.  He  is 
suffering  from  the  fact  that  there  are  yet  mixed  in  our  in- 
stitutions mediaeval  theories  of  protection,  regulation,  and 
authority,  and  modern  theories  of  independence  and  indi- 
vidual liberty  and  responsibility.  The  consequence  of  this 
mixed  state  of  things  is  that  those  who  are  clever  enough 


172  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

to  get  into  control  use  the  paternal  theory  by  which  to 
measure  their  own  rights  —  that  is,  they  assume  privileges 
—  and  they  use  the  theory  of  liberty  to  measure  their  own 
duties;  that  is,  when  it  comes  to  the  duties,  they  want  to 
be  "let  alone."  The  Forgotten  Man  never  gets  into  control. 
He  has  to  pay  both  ways.  His  rights  are  measured  to 
him  by  the  theory  of  liberty  —  that  is,  he  has  only  such  as  he 
can  conquer;  his  duties  are  measured  to  him  on  the  pa- 
ternal theory  —  that  is,  he  must  discharge  all  which  are  laid 
upon  him,  as  is  the  fortune  of  parents.  In  a  paternal  re- 
lation there  are  always  two  parties,  a  father  and  a  child ; 
and  when  we  use  the  paternal  relation  metaphorically,  it  is 
of  the  first  importance  to  know  who  is  to  be  father  and 
who  is  to  be  child.  The  role  of  parent  falls  always  to  the 
Forgotten  Man.  What  he  wants,  therefore,  is  that  am- 
biguities in  our  institutions  be  cleared  up  and  that  liberty 
be  more  fully  realized. 

It  behooves  any  economist  or  social  philosopher,  what- 
ever be  the  grade  of  his  orthodoxy,  who  proposes  to  enlarge 
the  sphere  of  the  "state,"  or  to  take  any  steps  whatever 
having  in  view  the  welfare  of  any  class  whatever,  to  pursue 
the  analysis  of  the  social  effects  of  his  proposition  until  he 
finds  that  other  group  whose  interests  must  be  curtailed 
or  whose  energies  must  be  placed  under  contribution  by  the 
course  of  action  which  he  proposes,  and  he  cannot  maintain 
his  proposition  until  he  has  demonstrated  that  it  will  be 
more  advantageous,  both  quantitatively  and  qualitatively,  to 
those  who  must  bear  the  weight  of  it  than  complete  non- 
interference by  the  state  with  the  relations  of  the  parties 
in  question. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 73 

LIFE,  ART  AND  AMERICA1 

Bv  Theodore  Dreiser 

I  do  not  pretend  to  speak  with  any  historic  or  sociologic 
knowledge  of  the  sources  of  the  American  ethical,  and 
therefore  critical,  point  of  view,  though  I  suspect  the  origin, 
but  I,  personally,  am  at  last  convinced  that,  whatever  its 
source  or  sense,  it  does  not  accord  with  the  facts  of  life  as 
I  have  noted  or  experienced  them.  To  me,  the  average  or 
somewhat  standardized  American  is  an  odd,  irregularly  de- 
veloped soul,  wise  and  even  froward  in  matters  of  mechanics, 
organizations,  and  anything  that  relates  to  technical  skill  in 
connection  with  material  things,  but  absolutely  devoid  of  any 
true  spiritual  insight,  any  correct  knowledge  of  the  history  of 
literature  or  art,  and  confused  by  and  mentally  lost  in  or 
overcome  by  the  multiplicity  of  the  purely  material  and  in- 
articulate details  by  which  he  finds  himself  surrounded.  .  .  . 

My  concern  is  with  the  mental  and  critical  standards  of 
America  as  they  exist  to-day,  and  of  England,  from  which 
they  seem  to  be  derived.  The  average  American  has  such 
an  odd,  such  a  naive  conception  of  what  the  world  is  like, 
what  it  is  that  is  taking  place  under  his  eyes  and  under  the 
sun.  If  you  should  chance  to  consult  a  Methodist,  a  Bap- 
tist, a  Presbyterian,  a  Lutheran,  or  any  other  current  Amer- 
ican sectarian,  on  this  subject,  you  would  find  (which,  after 
all,  is  a  dull  thing  to  point  out  at  this  day  and  date)  that  his 
conception  of  the  things  which  he  sees  about  him  is  bounded 
by  what  he  was  taught  in  his  Sunday  school  or  his  church, 
or  what  he  has  stored  up  or  gathered  from  the  conventions 
of  his  native  town.  (His  native  town !  Kind  heaven !) 
And,  although  the  world  has  stored  up  endless  treasuries  of 

1  Reprinted  from  "The  Seven  Arts"  by  special  permission  of  the  pub- 
lishers and  the  author. 


174  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

knowledge  in  regard  to  itself  chemically,  sociologically, 
historically,  philosophically  —  still  the  millions  and  mil- 
lions who  tramp  the  streets  and  occupy  the  stores  and  fill 
the  highways  and  byways,  and  the  fields,  and  the  tenements 
of  the  city,  have  no  faintest  knowledge  of  this,  or  of  any- 
thing else  that  can  be  said  to  be  intellectually  "doing." 
They  live  in  theories  and  isms,  and  under  codes  dictated  by 
a  church  or  a  state  or  an  order  of  society,  which  has  no  least 
regard  for  or  relationship  to  their  natural  mental  develop- 
ment. The  darkest  side  of  democracy,  like  that  of  autocra- 
cies, is  that  it  permits  the  magnetic  and  the  cunning  and 
the  unscrupulous  among  the  powerful  individuals,  to  sway 
vast  masses  of  the  mob,  not  so  much  to  their  own  immediate 
destruction  as  to  the  curtailment  of  their  natural  privileges 
and  the  ideas  which  they  should  be  allowed  to  entertain 
if  they  could  think  at  all,  and,  incidentally,  to  the  annoying 
and  sometimes  undoing  of  individuals  who  have  the  truest 
brain  interests  of  the  race  at  heart  —  Vide  !  Giordano  Bruno  ! 
Jan  Huss !  Savonarola !  Tom  Paine !  Walt  Whitman  !  Edgar 
Allan  Poe ! 

For,  after  all,  as  I  have  pointed  out  somewhere,  the  great 
business  of  life  and  mind  is  life.  We  are  here,  I  take  it, 
not  merely  to  moon  and  vegetate,  but  to  do  a  little  thinking 
about  this  state  in  which  we  find  ourselves.  It  is  perfectly 
legitimate,  all  priests  and  theories  and  philosophies  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding,  to  go  back,  in  so  far  as  we  may, 
to  the  primary  sources  of  thought,  i.e.,  the  visible  scene,  the 
actions  and  thoughts  of  people,  the  movements  of  nature 
and  its  chemical  and  physical  subtleties,  in  order  to  draw 
original  and  radical  conclusions  for  ourselves.  The  great 
business  of  an  individual,  if  he  has  any  time  after  struggling 
for  life  and  a  reasonable  amount  of  entertainment  or  sen- 
sory satiation,  should  be  this  very  thing.  A  man,  if  he  can, 
should  question  the  things  that  he  sees  —  not  some  things, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  175 

but  everything  —  stand,  as  it  were,  in  the  center  of  this 
whirling  storm  of  contradiction  which  we  know  as  life,  and 
ask  of  it  its  source  and  its  import.  Else  why  a  brain  at  all  ? 
If  only  one  could  induce  a  moderate  number  of  individuals, 
out  of  all  that  pass  this  way  and  come  no  more,  apparently, 
to  pause  and  think  about  life  and  take  an  individual  point 
of  view,  the  freedom  and  the  individuality  and  the  interest 
of  the  world  might,  I  fancy,  be  greatly  enhanced.  We  com- 
plain of  the  world  as  dull,  at  times.  If  it  is  so,  lack  of  think- 
ing by  individuals  is  the  reason.  But  to  ask  the  poor,  half- 
equipped  mentality  of  the  mass  to  think,  to  be  individual  — 
what  an  anachronism  !  You  might  as  well  ask  of  a  rock  to 
move,  or  a  tree  to  fly. 

Nevertheless,  here  in  America,  by  reason  of  an  idealistic 
constitution  which  is  largely  a  work  of  art  and  not  a  work- 
able system,  you  see  a  nation  dedicated  to  so-called  intellectual 
and  spiritual  freedom,  but  actually  devoted  with  an  almost 
bee-like  industry  to  the  gathering  and  storing  and  articula- 
tion and  organization  and  use  of  purely  material  things. 
In  spite  of  all  our  base-drum  announcement  of  our  servitude 
to  the  intellectual  ideals  of  the  world,  no  nation  has  ever 
contributed  less,  philosophically  or  artistically  or  spiritually, 
to  the  actual  development  of  the  intellect  and  the  spirit. 
I  shall  have  more  to  say  concerning  this  later  on.  We  have 
invented  many  things,  it  is  true,  which  have  relieved  man 
from  the  crushing  weight  of  a  too-grinding  toil,  and  this 
perhaps  may  be  the  sole  mission  of  America  in  the  world 
and  the  universe,  its  destiny,  its  end.  Personally,  I  think 
it  is  not  a  half  bad  thing  to  have  done,  and  the  submarine 
and  the  flying  machine  and  the  armored  dreadnought,  no 
less  than  the  sewing  machine  and  the  cotton  gin  and  the 
binder  and  the  reaper  and  the  cash  register  and  the  trolley 
car  and  the  telephone,  may,  in  the  end,  or  perhaps  already 
have,  proved  as  significant  in  breaking  the  chains  of  physical 


176  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

and  mental  slavery  of  man  as  anything  else.  I  do  not 
know. 

One  thing  I  do  know  is  that  America  seems  profoundly 
interested  in  these  things,  to  the  exclusion  of  anything  else. 
It  has  no  time,  you  might  almost  say,  no  taste,  to  stop  and 
contemplate  life  in  the  large,  from  an  artistic  or  a  philosophic 
point  of  view.  Yet,  after  all,  when  all  the  machinery  for 
lessening  man's  burdens  has  been  invented,  and  all  the 
safeguards  for  his  preservation  completed  and  possibly  shat- 
tered by  forces  too  deep  or  superior  for  his  cunning,  may 
not  a  phrase,  a  line  of  poetry,  or  a  single  act  of  some  half 
forgotten  tragedy  be  all  that  is  left  of  what  we  now  see  or 
dream  of  as  materially  perfect  ?  For,  after  all,  is  it  not  a 
thought  alone,  of  many  famous  and  powerful  things  that 
have  already  gone,  that  alone,  endures  —  a  thought  conveyed 
by  art  as  a  medium  ? 

But  let  me  not  become  too  remote  or  too  fine-spun  in  my 
conception  of  the  ultimate  significance  of  art  itself.  The 
point  which  I  wish  to  make  here  is  just  this  :  That  in  a  land 
so  devoted  to  the  material,  although  dedicated  by  its  con- 
stitution to  the  ideal,  the  condition  of  art  and  intellectual 
freedom  is  certainly  anomalous.  Your  trade  and  your  trust 
builder,  most  obviously  dominant  in  America  at  this  time, 
is  of  all  people  most  indifferent  to,  or  most  unconscious  of, 
the  ultimate  and  pressing  claims  of  mind  and  spirit  as  ex- 
pressed by  art.  If  you  doubt  this,  you  have  only  to  look 
about  you  to  see  for  what  purposes,  to  what  end,  the  in- 
crement of  men  of  wealth  and  material  power  in  America 
is  devoted.  We  have  something  like  twenty-five  hundred 
colleges  and  schools  and  institutions  of  various  kinds,  largely 
furthered  by  the  money  of  American  men  of  wealth,  and 
all  devoted  to  the  development  of  the  mental  equipment  of 
man,  yet  all  set  against  anything  which  is  related  to  truly 
radical  investigation,  or  thought,  or  action,  or  art. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 77 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  spite  of  the  American  constitution 
and  the  American  oratorical  address  of  all  and  sundry  occa- 
sions, the  average  American  school,  college,  university,  insti- 
tution, is  very  much  against  the  development  of  the  indi- 
vidual in  the  true  sense  of  that  word.  What  it  really  wants 
is  not  an  individual,  but  an  automatic  copy  of  some  altruistic 
and  impossible  ideal,  which  has  been  formulated  here  and 
in  England,  under  the  domination  of  Christianity.  This  is 
literally  true.  I  defy  you  to  read  any  college  or  university 
prospectus  or  address  or  plea,  which  concerns  the  purposes 
or  the  ideals  of  these  institutions,  and  not  agree  with  me. 
They  are  not  after  individuals,  they  are  after  types  or  schools 
of  individuals,  all  to  be  very  much  alike,  all  to  be  like  them- 
selves. And  what  type  ?  Listen.  I  know  of  an  American 
college  professor  in  one  of  our  successful  state  universities 
who  had  this  to  say  of  the  male  graduates  of  his  institution, 
after  having  watched  the  output  for  a  number  of  years : 
"They  are  all  right,  quite  satisfactory  as  machines  for  the 
production  of  material  wealth  or  for  the  maintenance  of 
certain  forms  of  professional  skill,  now  very  useful  to  the 
world,  but  as  for  having  ideas  of  their  own,  being  creators 
or  men  with  the  normal  impulses  and  passions  of  manhood, 
they  do  not  fulfill  the  requisite  in  any  respect.  They  are 
little  more  than  types,  machines,  made  in  the  image  and 
likeness  of  their  college.  They  do  not  think ;  they  cannot 
think,  because  they  are  bound  hard  and  fast  by  the  iron 
band  of  convention.  They  are  moral  young  beings,  Chris- 
tian beings,  model  beings,  but  they  are  not  men  in  the  cre- 
ative sense,  and  by  far  the  large  majority  will  never  do  a 
single  original  thing  until  by  chance  or  necessity  the  theories 
and  the  conventions  imposed  or  generated  by  their  training 
and  their  surroundings  are  broken,  and  they  become  free, 
independent,  self  thinking  individuals." 

I  know  of  one  woman's  college,  for  instance,  an  American 

N 


178  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

institution  of  the  very  highest  standing  which,  since  its  incep- 
tion, has  sent  forth  into  life  some  thousands  of  graduates 
and  post  graduates,  to  battle  life  as  they  may  for  individual 
supremacy   or   sensory    comfort.     They  are,  or  were,  sup- 
posed to  be  individuals,  capable  of  individual  thought,  pro- 
cedure, invention,  development,  yet  out  of  all  of  them,  not 
one  has  ever  even  entered  upon  any  creative  or  artistic  labor 
of  any  kind.     Not  one.     (Write  me  for  the  name  of  the 
college,  if  you  wish.)     There  is  not  a  chemist,  a  physiologist, 
a  botanist,  a  biologist,  an  historian,  a  philosopher,  an  artist, 
of  any  kind  or  repute,  among  them,  not  one.     No  one  of 
them  has  attained  to  even  passing  repute  in  these  fields. 
They  are  secretaries  to  corporations,  teachers,  missionaries, 
college  librarians,  educators  in  any  of  the  scores  of  pilfered 
meanings  that  may  be  attached  to  that  much  abused  word. 
They  are  curators,  directors,  keepers.     They  are  not  indi- 
viduals in  the  true  sense  of  that  word ;    they  have  not  been 
taught  to  think,  they  are  not  free.     They  do  not  invent, 
lead,  create.     They  only  copy  or  take  care  of,  yet  they 
are  graduates  of  this  college  and  its  theory,  mostly  ultra 
conventional  or,  worse  yet,  anaemic,  and  glad   to  wear   its 
collar,  to  clank  the  chains  of  its  ideas  or  ideals  —  autom- 
atons in  a  social  scheme  whose  last   and    final    detail    was 
outlined  to  them  in  the  classrooms  of  their  alma  mater. 
That,  to  me,  is  one  phase,  amusing  enough,  of  intellectual 
freedom  in  America. 

But  the  above  is  a  mere  detail  in  any  chronicle  or  picture 
of  the  social  or  intellectual  state  of  the  United  States.  No 
country  in  the  world,  at  least  none  that  I  know  anything 
about,  has  such  a  peculiar,  such  a  seemingly  fierce  determi- 
nation, to  make  the  Ten  Commandments  work.  It  would 
be  amusing  if  it  were  not  pitiful,  their  faith  in  these  bind- 
ing religious  ideals.  I,  for  one,  have  never  been  able  to  make 
up  my  mind  whether  this  springs  from  the  zealotry  of  the 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 79 

Puritans  who  landed  at  Plymouth  Rock,  or  whether  it  is 
indigenous  to  the  soil  (which  I  doubt  when  I  think  of  the 
Indians  who  preceded  the  whites),  or  whether  it  is  a  prod- 
uct of  the  federal  constitution,  compounded  by  such  ideal- 
ists as  Paine  and  Jefferson  and  Franklin,  and  the  more  or 
less  religious  and  political  dreamers  of  the  pre-constitutional 
days.  Certain  it  is  that  no  profound  moral  idealism  ani- 
mated the  French  in  Canada,  the  Dutch  in  New  York,  the 
Swedes  in  New  Jersey,  or  the  mixed  French  and  English  in 
the  extreme  south  and  New  Orleans. 

The  first  shipload  of  white  women  that  was  ever  brought 
to  America  was  sold,  almost  at  so  much  a  pound.  They 
were  landed  at  Jamestown.  The  basis  of  all  the  first  large 
fortunes  was  laid,  to  speak  plainly,  in  graft  —  the  most  out- 
rageous concessions  obtained  abroad.  The  history  of  our 
relations  with  the  American  Indians  is  sufficient  to  lay  any 
claim  to  financial  or  moral  virtue  or  worth  in  the  white  men 
who  settled  this  country.  We  debauched,  then  robbed,  and 
murdered  them.  There  is  no  other  conclusion  to  be  drawn 
from  the  facts  covering  that  relationship  as  set  down  in  any 
history  worthy  of  the  name.  In  regard  to  the  development 
of  our  land,  our  canals,  our  railroads,  and  the  vast  organi- 
zations supplying  our  present  day  necessities,  their  history 
is  a  complex  of  perjury,  robbery,  false  witness,  extortion, 
and  indeed  every  crime  to  which  avarice,  greed,  and  ambition 
are  heir.  If  you  do  not  believe  this,  examine  at  your  leisure 
the  various  congressional  and  state  legislative  investigations 
which  have  been  held  on  an  average  of  every  six  months 
since  the  government  was  founded,  and  see  for  yourself. 
The  cunning  and  unscrupulousness  of  American  brains  can 
be  matched  against  any  the  world  has  ever  known. 

But  an  odd  thing  in  connection  with  this  financial  and 
social  criminality  is  that  it  has  been  consistently  and  regu- 
larly accompanied,  outwardly  at  least,  by  a  religious  and 


180  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

a  sex  puritanism  which  would  be  scarcely  believable  if  it 
were  not  true.  I  do  not  say  that  the  robbers  and  thieves 
who  did  so  much  to  build  up  our  great  commercial  and  social 
structures  were  in  themselves  inwardly  or  outwardly  always 
religious  or  puritanically  moral  from  the  sex  point  of  view, 
although  in  regard  to  the  latter,  they  most  frequently  made 
a  show  of  so  being.  But  I  do  say  this,  that  the  communities 
and  the  states  and  the  nation  in  which  they  were  committing 
their  depredations  have  been  individually  and  collectively, 
in  so  far  as  the  written,  printed,  and  acted  word  are  con- 
cerned, and  in  pictures  and  music,  militantly  pure  and  re- 
ligious during  all  the  time  that  this  has  been  going  forward 
under  their  eyes,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  with  their  political 
consent.  Why  ?  I  have  a  vague  feeling  that  it  is  the  Ameri- 
can of  Anglo-Saxon  origin  only  who  has  been  most  vivid 
in  his  excitement  over  religion  and  morals  where  the  written, 
printed,  acted,  or  painted  word  was  concerned,  yet  who,  at 
the  same  time,  and  perhaps  for  this  very  reason,  was  failing 
or  deliberately  refusing  to  see,  the  contrast  which  his  or- 
dinary and  very  human  actions  presented  to  all  this.  Was 
he  a  hypocrite  ?  Oh,  well !  —  is  he  one  ?  I  hate  to  think 
it,  but  he  certainly  acts  the  part  exceedingly  well.  Either 
he  is  that  or  a  fool  —  take  your  choice. 

Your  American  of  Anglo-Saxon  or  any  other  origin  is 
actually  no  better,  spiritually  or  morally,  than  any  other 
creature  of  this  earth,  be  he  Turk  or  Hindu  or  Chinese,  except 
from  a  materially  constructive  or  wealth-breeding  point  of 
view,  but  for  some  odd  reason  or  another,  he  thinks  he  is. 
The  only  real  difference  is  that,  cast  out  or  spewed  out  by 
conditions  over  which  he  had  no  control  elsewhere,  he 
chanced  to  fall  into  a  land  overflowing  with  milk  and  honey. 
Nature  in  America  was,  and  still  is,  kind  to  the  lorn  foreigner 
seeking  a  means  of  subsistence,  and  he  seems  to  have  im- 
mediately attributed  this  to  three  things :   First,  his  inher- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  l8l 

ent  capacity  to  dominate  and  control  wealth ;  second,  the 
especial  favor  of  God  to  him ;  third,  to  his  superior  and 
moral  state  (due,  of  course,  to  his  possession  of  wealth). 
These  three  things,  uncorrected  as  yet  by  any  great  financial 
pressure,  or  any  great  natural  or  world  catastrophe,  have 
served  to  keep  the  American  in  his  highly  romantic  state  of 
self  deception.  He  still  thinks  that  he  is  a  superior  spiritual 
and  moral  being,  infinitely  better  than  the  creatures  of 
any  other  land,  and  nothing  short  of  a  financial  cataclysm, 
which  will  come  with  the  pressure  of  population  on  resources, 
will  convince  him  that  he  is  not.  But  that  he  will  yet  be 
convinced  is  a  certainty.  You  need  not  fear.  Leave  it  to 
nature. 

One  of  the  interesting  phases  of  this  puritanism  or  pharisee- 
ism  is  his  attitude  toward  women  and  their  morality  and 
their  purity.  If  ever  a  people  has  refined  eroticism  to  a 
greater  degree  than  the  American,  I  am  not  aware  of  it. 
The  good  American,  capable  of  the  same  gross  financial  crimes 
previously  indicated,  has  been  able  to  look  upon  most  women, 
but  more  particularly  those  above  him  in  the  social  scale, 
as  considerably  more  than  human  —  angelic,  no  less,  and 
possessed  of  qualities  the  like  of  which  are  not  to  be  found 
in  any  breathing  being,  man,  woman,  child,  or  animal. 
It  matters  not  that  his  cities  and  towns,  like  those  of  any 
other  nation,  are  rife  with  sex. 

Only  a  sex-blunted  nature  or  race  such  as  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  could  have  built  up  any  such  asinine  theory  as  this. 
The  purity,  the  sanctity,  the  self-abnegation,  the  delicacy 
of  women  —  how  these  qualities  have  been  exaggerated  and 
dinned  into  our  ears,  until  at  last  the  average  scrubby  non- 
reasoning  male,  quite  capable  of  taking  a  girl  off  the  street, 
is  no  more  able  to  clearly  visualize  the  creature  before  him 
than  he  is  the  central  wilds  of  Africa  which  he  has  never 
seen.     A  princess,  a  goddess,  a  divine  mother  or  creative 


1 82  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

principle,  all  the  virtues,  all  the  perfections,  no  vices,  no 
weaknesses,  no  errors  —  some  such  hodge-podge  as  this  has 
come  to  be  the  average  Anglo-Saxon,  or  at  least  American, 
conception  of  the  average  American  woman.  I  do  not  say- 
that  a  portion  of  this  illusion  is  not  valuable  —  I  think  it 
is.  But  as  it  stands  now,  she  is  too  good  to  be  true :  a 
paragon,  a  myth !  Actually,  she  doesn't  exist  at  all  as  he 
has  been  taught  to  imagine  her.  She  is  nothing  more  than 
a  two-legged  biped  like  the  rest  of  us,  but  in  consequence  of 
this  delusion  sex  itself,  being  a  violation  of  this  paragon,  has 
become  a  crime.  We  enter  upon  the  earth,  it  is  true,  in  a 
none  too  artistic  manner  (conceived  in  iniquity  and  born  in 
sin,  is  the  biblical  phrasing  of  it),  but  all  this  has  long  since 
been  glozed  over  —  ignored  —  and  to  obviate  its  brutality 
as  much  as  possible,  the  male  has  been  called  upon  to  purify 
himself  in  thought  and  deed,  to  avoid  all  private  speculation 
as  to  women  and  his  relationship  to  them,  and,  much  more 
than  that,  to  avoid  all  public  discussion,  either  by  word  of 
mouth  or  the  printed  page. 

To  think  of  women  or  to  describe  them  as  anything  less 
than  the  paragon  previously  commented  upon,  has  become, 
by  this  process,  not  only  a  sin  —  it  is  a  shameful  infraction  of 
the  moral  code,  no  less.  Women  are  too  good,  the  sex  re- 
lationship too  vile  a  thing,  to  be  mentioned  or  even  thought 
of.  We  must  move  in  a  mirage  of  illusion.  We  must  not 
know  what  we  really  do.  We  must  trample  fact  under  foot 
and  give  fancy,  in  the  guise  of  our  so-called  better  natures, 
free  rein.  How  this  must  affect  or  stultify  the  artistic  and 
creative  faculties  of  the  race  itself  must  be  plain.  Yet  that 
is  exactly  where  we  stand  to-day,  ethically  and  spiritually, 
in  regard  to  sex  and  women,  and  that  is  whatsis  the  matter 
with  American  social  life,  letters,  and  art. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  this  is  not  a  workable  and  a 
satisfactory  code  in  case  any  race  or  nation  chooses  to  follow 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 83 

it,  but  I  do  say  it  is  deadening  to  the  artistic  impulse,  and  I 
mean  it.  Imagine  a  puritan  or  a  moralist  attempting  any- 
thing in  art,  which  is  nothing  if  not  a  true  reflection  of  in- 
sight into  life  !  Imagine  !  And  contrast  this  moral  or  art 
narrowness  with  his  commercial,  or  financial,  or  agricul- 
tural freedom  and  sense,  and  note  the  difference.  In  regard 
to  all  the  latter,  he  is  cool,  skeptical,  level-headed,  under- 
standing, natural  —  consequently  well  developed  in  those 
fields.  In  regard  to  this  other,  he  is  illusioned,  theoretic,  re- 
ligious. In  consequence,  he  has  no  power,  except  for  an 
occasional  individual  who  may  rise  in  spite  of  these  un- 
toward conditions  (to  be  frowned  upon)  to  understand, 
much  less  picture,  life  as  it  really  is.  Artistically,  intel- 
lectually, philosophically,  we  are  weaklings ;  financially, 
and  in  all  ways  commercial  we  are  very  powerful.  So 
one-sided  has  been  our  development  that  in  this  latter 
respect  we  are  almost  giants.  Strange,  almost  fabulous 
creatures,  have  been  developed  here  by  this  process,  men  so 
singularly  devoid  of  a  rounded  human  nature  that  they  have 
become  freaks  in  this  one  direction  —  that  of  money  getting. 
I  refer  to  Rockefeller,  Gould,  Sage,  Vanderbilt  the  first,  H. 
H.  Rogers,  Carnegie,  Frick.  Strong  in  all  but  this  one 
capacity,  the  majority  of  our  great  men  stand  forth  as  true 
human  rarities,  the  like  of  which  has  scarcely  ever  been  seen 
before. 

America  could  be  described  as  the  land  of  Bottom  the 
Weaver.  And  by  Bottom  I  mean  the  tradesman  or  manu- 
facturer who  by  reason  of  his  enthusiasm  for  the  sale  of 
paints  or  powder  or  threshing  machines  or  coal,  has  accumu- 
lated wealth  and,  in  consequence  and  by  reason  of  the  hap- 
hazard privileges  of  democracy,  has  strayed  into  a  position 
of  counsellor,  or  even  dictator,  not  in  regard  to  the  things 
about  which  he  might  readily  be  supposed  to  know,  but  about 
the  many  things  about  which  he  would  be  much  more  likely 


1 84  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

not  to  know :  art,  science,  philosophy,  morals,  public  policy 
in  general.  You  recall  him,  of  course,  in  "A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,"  unconscious  of  his  furry  ears  and  also  that 
he  does  not  know  how  to  play  the  lion's  part  —  that  it  is 
more  difficult  than  mere  roaring.  Here  he  is  now,  in  America, 
enthroned  as  a  lion,  and  in  his  way  he  is  an  epitome  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  temperament.  All  merchants,  judges,  lawyers, 
priests,  politicians  —  what  a  goodly  company  of  Bottoms 
they  are.     Solidified,  they  are  Bottom  to  the  life. 

Bottom  is  so  wise  in  his  own  estimation.  He  never  once 
suspects  his  furry  ears  or  that  he  is  not  a  perfect  actor  in  the 
role  of  the  lion  —  or  (if  you  will  take  it  for  what  it  is  meant) 
the  arts.  He  is  just  a  dull  weaver,  really,  made  by  this  dream 
of  our  constitution  ("an  exposition  of  sleep"  come  upon  him) 
into  a  roaring  lion  —  in  his  own  estimation.  No  one  must  say 
that  Bottom  is  not :  he  will  be  driven  out  of  the  country  — 
deported  or  exiled.  No  one  must  presume  to  practise  the  arts 
save  as  Bottom  understands  them.  If  you  do,  presto,  there 
is  his  henchman  Comstock  and  all  Comstockery  to  take  you 
into  custody.  Men  who  have  come  here  from  foreign  shores 
(England  excepted)  have  been  amazed  at  Bottom's  ears  and 
his  presumption  in  passing  upon  what  is  a  lion's  part  in 
life.  Indeed  he  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  temperament  personified. 
He  is  convinced  that  liberty  was  not  made  for  Oberon  or 
Peaseblossom  or  Cobweb  or  Mustard,  but  for  bishops  and 
executives  and  wholesale  grocers  and  men  who  have  become 
vastly  rich  canning  tomatoes  or  selling  oil.  We  must  be 
"marvelous  furry  about  the  face"  and  do  things  his  way, 
to  be  free.  The  great  desire  of  Bottom  is  for  all  of  us  to 
have  furry  ears  and  long  ones  and  to  believe  that  he  is  the 
greatest  actor  in  the  world.  He  is  bewildered  by  a  world 
that  will  not  play  Pyramus  his  way.  Quince,  Snug,  Flute, 
Snout,  and  Starveling  (all  those  who  came  over  with  him  in 
the  Mayflower)  agree  that  he  is  a  great  actor,  but  there  are. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 85 

others,  and  Bottom  is  convinced  that  these  others  are  in 
error  —  trying  to  wreck  that  dream,  the  American  Con- 
stitution, which  brought  this  "exposition  of  sleep"  upon  him 
and  made  him  into  a  lion  —  "  marvelous  furry  about  the  face" 
and  with  great  ears. 

Alas,  alas !  for  art  in  America.  It  has  a  hard,  stubby 
row  to  hoe. 

But  my  quarrel  is  not  with  America  as  a  comfortable  in- 
dustrious atmosphere  in  which  to  move  and  have  one's  being, 
but  largely  because  it  is  no  more  than  that  —  because  it  tends 
to  become  a  dull,  conventionalized,  routine,  material  world. 
We  are  drifting,  unless  most  of  the  visible  signs  are  deceiv- 
ing, into  the  clutches  of  a  commercial  oligarchy  whose  mental 
standards  outside  of  trade  are  so  puerile  as  to  be  scarcely 
worth  discussing.  Contemplate,  if  you  please,  what  has 
happened  to  one  of  the  shibboleths  or  bulwarks  of  our 
sacred  liberties  and  intellectual  freedom,  i.e.,  the  newspaper, 
under  the  dominance  of  trade.  Look  at  it.  I  have  not 
time  here  to  stop  and  set  forth  seriatim  all  the  charges  that 
have  been  made,  and  in  the  main  thoroughly  substantiated, 
against  the  American  newspaper.  But  consider  for  your- 
selves the  newspapers  which  you  know  and  read.  How  much, 
I  ask  you,  if  you  are  in  trade,  do  the  newspapers  you  know, 
know  about  trade  ?  How  much  actual  truth  do  they  tell  ? 
How  far  could  you  follow  their  trade  judgment  or  under- 
standing ?  And  if  you  are  a  member  of  any  profession,  how 
much  reported  professional  knowledge  or  news,  as  presented 
by  a  newspaper,  can  you  rely  on  ?  If  a  newspaper  reported 
a  professional  man's  judgment  or  dictum  in  regard  to  any 
important  professional  fact,  how  fully  would  you  accept 
it  without  other  corroborative  testimony  ? 

You  are  a  play-goer :  do  you  believe  the  newspaper 
dramatic  critics  ?  You  are  a  student  of  literature  :  do  you 
accept  the  mouthings  of  their  literary  critics  or  even  look 


1 86  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

to  them  for  advice?  You  are  an  artist  or  a  lover  of  art: 
do  you  follow  the  newspapers  for  anything  more  than  the 
barest  intelligence  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  anything  ar- 
tistic ?  I  doubt  it.  And  in  regard  to  politics,  finance,  social 
movements  and  social  affairs,  are  they  not  actually  the 
darkest,  the  most  misrepresentative,  frequently  the  most 
biased  and  malicious  guides  in  the  world  of  the  printed 
word  ?  Take  their  mouthings  concerning  ethics  and  morals 
alone  and  contrast  them,  if  you  please,  with  their  private 
policy  or  their  financial  connections  —  the  forces  by  which 
they  are  directed,  editorially  and  otherwise.  I  am  not 
speaking  of  all  newspapers,  but  never  mind  the  exception. 
It  is  always  unimportant  in  mass  conditions,  anyhow. 
Newspaper  criticism,  like  newspaper  leadership,  has  already 
long  since  come  to  be  looked  upon  by  the  informed  and  in- 
telligent as  little  more  than  the  mouthings  or  bellowings 
of  mercenaries  or  panderers  to  trade,  or,  worse  still,  rank 
incompetents.  The  newspaper  man,  per  se,  either  does  not 
know  or  cannot  help  himself.  The  newspaper  publisher  is 
very  glad  of  this  and  uses  his  half  intelligence  or  inability 
to  further  his  own  interests.  Politicians,  administrations, 
department  stores,  large  interests,  and  personalities  of 
various  kinds,  use  or  control  or  compel  newspapers  to  do  their 
bidding.  This  is  a  severe  indictment  to  make  against  the 
press  in  general.  Is  it  not  literally  true  ?  Do  you  not,  of 
your  own  knowledge,  know  it  to  be  so  ? 

Take  again  the  large,  the  almost  dominant  religious  and 
commercial  organizations  of  America.  What  relationship, 
if  any,  do  they  bear  to  a  free  mental  development,  a  refined 
taste,  a  subtle  understanding,  art  or  life  in  its  poetic  or  tragic 
moulds,  its  drift,  its  character  ?  Would  you  personally  look 
to  the  Methodist,  or  the  Presbyterian,  or  the  Catholic,  or  the 
Baptist  church  to  further  individualism,  or  freedom  of 
thought,  or  directness  of  mental  action,  or  art  in  any  form  ? 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 87 

Do  not  they  really  ask  of  all  their  adherents  that  they  lay 
aside  this  freedom  in  favor  of  the  reported  word  or  dictum 
of  a  fabled,  a  non-historic,  an  imaginary  ruler,  of  the  uni- 
verse ?  Think  of  it.  And  they  are  among  the  powerful, 
constructive,  and  controlling  elements  in  government  —  in 
this  government,  to  be  accurate  —  dedicated  and  presumably 
devoted  to  individual  liberty,  not  only  of  so-called  con- 
science, but  of  constructive  thought  and  art. 

And  our  large  corporations,  with  their  dominant  and  con- 
trolling captains  of  industry,  so-called.  What  about  their 
relationship  to  individuality,  the  freedom  of  the  individual 
to  think  for  himself  —  to  grow  along  constructural  lines  ? 
Take,  for  instance,  the  tobacco  trust,  the  oil  trust,  the  milk 
trust,  the  coal  trust  —  in  what  way,  do  you  suppose,  do  they 
help  ?  Are  they  actively  seeking  a  better  code  of  ethics,  a 
wider  historic  or  philosophic  perspective,  a  more  delicate 
art  perception  for  the  individual,  or  are  they  definitely  and 
permanently  concerned  with  the  customary  bludgeoning 
tactics  of  trade,  piling  up  fortunes  out  of  which  they  are  to 
be  partially  bled  later  by  pseudo  art  collectors  and  swindling 
dealers  in  antiques  and  so-called  historic  art  and  literature  ? 
Of  current  life  and  its  accomplishments,  what  do  they  actually 
know  ?  Yet  this  is  a  democracy.  Here,  as  in  every  other 
realm  of  the  world,  the  individual  is  permitted,  compelled,  to 
seek  his  own  material  and  mental  salvation  as  best  he  may. 
The  trouble  with  a  democracy  as  opposed  to  an  autocracy, 
with  a  line  of  titled  idlers  permitted  the  gift  of  leisure  and 
art  indulgence,  is  that  there  is  no  central  force  or  group  to 
foster  art,  to  secure  letters  and  art  in  their  inalienable  rights, 
to  make  of  superior  thought  a  noble  and  a  sacred  thing.  I 
am  not  saying  that  democracy  will  not  yet  produce  such 
a  central  force  or  group.  I  believe  it  can  and  will.  I  be- 
lieve when  the  time  arrives  it  may  prove  to  be  better  than 
any  form  of  hereditary  autocracy.     But  I  am  talking  about 


1 88  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

the  mental,  the  social,  the  artistic  condition  of  America  as 
it  is  to-day. 

To  me  it  is  a  thing  for  laughter,  if  not  for  tears  :  one  hun- 
dred million  Americans,  rich  (a  fair  percentage  of  them,  any- 
how) beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice,  and  scarcely  a  sculptor, 
a  poet,  a  singer,  a  novelist,  an  actor,  a  musician,  worthy  of 
the  name.  One  hundred  and  forty  years  (almost  two  hun- 
dred, counting  the  Colonial  days)  of  the  most  prosperous  social 
conditions,  a  rich  soil,  incalculable  deposits  of  gold,  silver, 
and  precious  and  useful  metals  and  fuels  of  all  kinds,  a  land 
amazing  in  its  mountains,  its  streams,  its  valley  prospects, 
its  wealth-yielding  powers,  and  now  its  tremendous  cities 
and  far-flung  facilities  for  travel  and  trade,  and  yet  con- 
template it.  Artists,  poets,  thinkers,  where  are  they  ?  Run 
them  over  in  your  mind.  Has  it  produced  a  single  phi- 
losopher of  the  first  rank  —  a  Spencer,  a  Nietzsche,  a  Scho- 
penhauer, a  Kant  ?  Do  I  hear  someone  offering  Emerson 
as  an  equivalent  ?  or  James  ?  Has  it  produced  a  historian  of 
the  force  of  either  Macaulay  or  Grote  or  Gibbon  ?  A  novelist 
of  the  rank  of  Turgenev,  de  Maupassant,  or  Flaubert?  A 
scientist  of  the  standing  of  Crookes  or  Roentgen  or  Pasteur  ? 
A  critic  of  the  insight  and  force  of  Taine,  Sainte-Beuve,  or 
the  de  Goncourts  ?  A  dramatist  the  equivalent  of  Ibsen, 
Chekhov,  Shaw,  Hauptmann,  Brieux  ?  An  actor,  since 
Booth,  of  the  force  of  Coquelin,  Sonnenthal,  Forbes-Robert- 
son, or  Sarah  Bernhardt  ?  Since  Whitman,  one  poet, 
Edgar  Lee  Masters.  In  painting,  a  Whistler,  an  Inness,  a 
Sargent.  Who  else  ?  (And  two  of  these  shook  the  dust  of 
our  shores  forever.)  Inventors,  yes.  By  the  hundreds, 
one  might  almost  say  by  the  thousands.  Some  of  them 
amazing  enough,  in  all  conscience,  world  figures,  and  endur- 
ing for  all  time.  But  of  what  relationship  to  art  —  the  su- 
preme freedom  of  the  mind  ?  .   .   . 

I  am  constantly  astonished  by  the  thousands  of  men,  ex- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 89 

ceedingly  capable  in  some  mechanical  or  narrow  technical 
sense,  whose  world  or  philosophic  vision  is  that  of  a  child. 
As  a  nation,  we  accept  and  believe  naively  in  such  impossible 
things.  I  am  not  thinking  alone  of  the  primary  tenets  of 
all  religions,  which  are  manifestly  based  on  nothing  at  all, 
and  which  millions  of  Americans,  along  with  the  humbler 
classes  of  other  countries,  accept,  but  rather  of  those  sterner ' 
truths  which  life  itself  teaches  —  the  unreliability  of  human 
nature ;  the  crass  chance  which  strikes  down  and  destroys 
our  finest  dreams ;  the  fact  that  man  in  all  his  relations  is 
neither  good  nor  evil,  but  both. 

The  American,  by  some  hocus  pocus  of  atavism,  has  seem- 
ingly borrowed  or  retained  from  lower  English  middle-class 
puritans  all  their  fol  de  rol  notions  about  making  human 
nature  perfect  by  fiat  or  edict  —  the  written  word,  as  it  were, 
which  goes  with  all  religions.  So,  although  by  reason  of  the 
coarsest  and  most  brutal  methods,  we,  as  a  nation,  have  built 
up  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  domineering  oligarchies 
in  the  world,  we  are  still  by  no  means  aware  of  the  fact. 

All  men,  in  the  mind  of  the  unthinking  American,  are  still 
free  and  equal.  They  have  in  themselves  certain  inalienable 
rights ;  what  they  are,  when  you  come  to  test  them,  no 
human  being  can  discover.  Your  so-called  rights  disappear 
like  water  before  a  moving  boat.  They  do  not  exist.  Life 
here,  as  elsewhere,  comes  down  to  the  brutal  methods  of 
nature  itself.  The  rich  strike  the  poor  at  every  turn ;  the 
poor  defend  themselves  and  further  their  lives  by  all  the 
tricks  which  stark  necessity  can  conceive.  No  inalienable 
right  keeps  the  average  cost  of  living  from  rising  steadily, 
while  most  of  the  salaries  of  our  idealistic  Americans  are 
stationary.  No  inalienable  right  has  ever  yet  prevented  the 
strong  from  either  tricking  or  browbeating  the  weak.  And, 
although  by  degrees  the  average  American  everywhere  is 
feeling  more  and  more  keenly  the  sharpening  struggle  for 


190  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

existence,  yet  his  faith  in  his  impossible  ideals  is  as  fresh  as 
ever.  God  will  save  the  good  American,  and  seat  him  at 
His  right  hand  on  the  Golden  Throne. 

On  earth  the  good  American  is  convinced  that  the  nar- 
rower and  more  colorless  his  life  here  the  greater  his  op- 
portunity for  a  more  glorious  life  hereafter.  His  pet  theory 
is  that  man  is  made  useful  and  successful  and  constructive 
—  a  perfect  man,  in  short  —  by  the  kinds  and  numbers  of 
things  he  is  not  permitted  to  do  or  think  or  say.  A  pale, 
narrow,  utterly  restrained  life,  according  to  his  theory,  is 
the  perfect  one.  If  one  accepted  St.  James's  version  and 
kept  utterly  unspotted  by  the  world,  entirely  out  of  contact 
with  it,  he  would  be  the  perfect  American.  Indeed,  ever 
since  the  Mayflower  landed,  and  the  country  began  to  grow 
westward,  we  have  been  convinced  that  we  were  destined  to 
make  the  Ten  Commandments,  in  all  their  arbitrary  per- 
fection, work.  One  might  show  readily  enough  that  America 
attained  its  amazing  position  in  life  by  reason  of  the  fact 
that,  along  with  boundless  opportunities,  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments did  not  and  do  not  work,  but  what  would  be  the 
use  ?  With  one  hand  the  naive  American  takes  and  executes 
with  all  the  brutal  insistence  of  nature  itself;  with  the 
other  he  writes  glowing  platitudes  concerning  brotherly 
love,  virtue,  purity,  truth,  etc.,  etc. 

A  part  of  this  right  or  left  hand  tendency,  as  the  case 
might  be,  is  seen  in  the  constant  desire  of  the  American  to 
reform  something.  No  country  in  the  world,  not  even  Eng- 
land, the  mother  of  fol  de  rol  reforms,  is  so  prolific  in  these 
frail  ventures  as  this  great  country  of  ours.  In  turn  we  have 
had  campaigns  for  the  reform  of  the  atheist,  the  drunkard, 
the  lecher,  the  fallen  woman,  the  buccaneer  financier,  the 
drug  fiend,  the  dancer,  the  theatregoer,  the  reader  of  novels, 
the  wearer  of  low-neck  dresses,  and  surplus  jewelry  —  in 
fact,  every  human  taste  and  frivolity,  wherever  sporadically 


ILLUSTRATIONS  I91 

it  has  chanced  to  manifest  itself  with  any  interesting  hu- 
man force.  Your  reformer's  idea  is  that  any  human  being, 
to  be  a  successful  one,  must  be  a  pale  spindling  sprout,  in- 
capable of  any  vice  or  crime.  And  all  the  while  the  thresh- 
ing sea  of  life  is  sounding  in  his  ears.  The  thief,  the  lecher, 
the  drunkard,  the  fallen  woman,  the  greedy,  the  inordinately 
vain,  as  in  all  ages  past,  pass  by  his  door,  and  are  not  the 
whit  less  numerous  for  the  unending  campaigns  which  have 
been  launched  to  save  them.  In  other  words,  human  na- 
ture is  human  nature,  but  your  American  cannot  be  made  to 
believe  it. 

He  will  not  give  up  the  illusion  which  was  piled  safely 
in  the  hold  of  the  Mayflower  when  it  set  sail.  He  is  going 
to  reform  man  and  the  world  willy  nilly,  and,  while  in  his 
rampant  idealism  he  is  neglecting  to  build  up  a  suitable  army 
and  navy  wherewith  to  defend  himself,  he  is  busy  propagating 
little  cults  whereby  man  is  to  be  made  less  vigorous,  more 
the  useless  anaemic  thing  that  he  has  in  mind. 

Personally,  my  quarrel  is  with  America's  quarrel  with 
original  thought.  It  is  so  painful  to  me  to  see  one  after 
another  of  our  alleged  reformers  tilting  Don  Quixote-like  at 
the  giant  windmills  of  fact.  We  are  to  have  no  pictures 
which  the  puritan  and  the  narrow,  animated  by  an  obsolete 
dogma,  cannot  approve  of.  We  are  to  have  no  theatres, 
no  motion  pictures,  no  books,  no  public  exhibitions  of  any- 
kind,  no  speech  even,  which  will  in  any  way  contravene  his 
limited  view  of  life.  A  few  years  ago  it  was  the  humble 
dealer  in  liquor  whose  life  was  anathematized,  and  whose 
property  was  descended  upon  with  torches,  axes,  and  bombs. 
Now  comes  prohibition.  A  little  later,  our  cities  growing 
and  the  sections  devoted  to  the  worship  of  Venus  becoming 
more  manifest,  the  Vice  Crusader  was  bred,  and  we  had 
the  spectacle  of  whole  ar^  ^  of  fallen  women  scattered  to 
the   four   winds,  and  allowed    to  practise  separately  what 


192  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

they  could  not  do  collectively.  Then  came  Mr.  Comstock, 
vindictive,  persistent,  and  with  a  nose  and  a  taste  for  the 
profane  and  erotic,  such  as  elsewhere  has  not  been  equaled 
since.  Pictures,  books,  the  theatre,  the  dance,  the  studio  — 
all  came  under  his  watchful  eye.  During  the  twenty  or 
thirty  years  in  which  he  acted  as  a  United  States  PostofBce 
Inspector,  he  was,  because  of  his  dull  charging  against  things 
which  he  did  not  rightly  understand,  never  out  of  the  white 
light  of  publicity  which  he  so  greatly  craved.  One  month 
it  would  be  a  novel  by  D'Annunzio ;  another,  a  set  of  works 
by  Balzac  or  de  Maupassant,  found  in  the  shade  of  some 
grovelly  bookseller's  shop ;  the  humble  photographer  at- 
tempting a  nude ;  the  painter  who  allowed  his  reverence  for 
Raphael  to  carry  him  too  far;  the  poet  who  attempted  a 
recrudescence  of  Don  Juan  in  modern  iambics,  was  immedi- 
ately seized  upon  and  hauled  before  an  equally  dull  magis- 
trate, there  to  be  charged  with  his  offense  and  to  be  fined 
accordingly.     All  this  is  being  continued  with  emphasis. 

Then  came  the  day  of  the  White  Slave  Chasers,  and  now 
no  American  city,  and  no  backwoods  Four  Corners,  however 
humble,  is  complete  without  a  vice  commission  of  some  kind, 
or  at  least  a  local  agent  or  representative,  charged  with  the 
duty  of  keeping  the  art,  the  literature,  the  press,  and  the 
private  lives  of  all  those  at  hand  up  to  that  standard  of  per- 
fection which  only  the  dull  can  set  for  themselves. 

Several  years  ago,  when  the  white  slave  question  was  at 
its  whitest  heat,  the  problem  of  giving  expression  to  its 
fundamental  aspects  was  divided  between  raiding  plays 
which  attemped  to  show  the  character  of  the  crime  in  too 
graphic  a  manner,  and  licensing  those  which  appealed  to 
the  intelligence  of  those  who  were  foremost  in  the  crusade. 
Thus  we  had  the  spectacle  of  an  uncensored,  but  neverthe- 
less approved,  ten-reel  film  t,  wing  more  details  of  the 
crime  and  better  methods  of  securing  white  slaves,  than  any 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 93 

other  production  of  the  day,  running  undisturbed  to  packed 
houses  all  over  the  country,  while  two  somewhat  more 
dramatic,  but  far  less  effective  distributors  of  information 
in  the  way  of  plays  were  successfully  harried  from  city  to 
city  and  finally  withdrawn. 

Shakespeare  has  been  ordered  from  the  schools  in  some  of 
the  states.  A  production  of  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  has 
been  raided  in  Chicago.  Japanese  prints  of  a  high  art 
value,  intended  for  the  seclusion  of  a  private  collection,  have 
been  seized  and  the  most  valuable  of  them  held  to  be  de- 
stroyed. By  turns,  an  artistic  fountain  to  Heine  in  New 
York,  loan  exhibits  of  paintings  in  Denver,  Kansas  City, 
and  elsewhere,  scores  of  books  by  Stevenson,  James  Lane 
Allen,  Frances  H.  Burnett,  have  been  attacked,  not  only,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  latter,  with  the  invisible  weapons  of  the  law, 
as  might  be  expected,  but,  in  regard  to  the  former,  with 
actual  axes.  A  male  dancer  of  repute  and  some  artistic 
ability,  has  been  raided  publicly  by  the  vice  crusaders  for 
his  shameless  exposure  of  his  person  !  No  play,  no  picture, 
no  book,  no  public  or  private  jubilation  of  any  kind,  is 
complete  any  more  without  its  vice  attack.  .  .  . 

This  sort  of  interference  with  serious  letters  is,  to  me,  the 
worst  and  most  corrupting  form  of  espionage  which  is  con- 
ceivable to  the  human  mind.  It  plumbs  the  depths  of  ig- 
norance and  intolerance ;  if  not  checked,  it  can  and  will 
dam  initiative  and  inspiration  at  the  source.  Life,  if  it  is 
anything  at  all,  is  a  thing  to  be  observed,  studied,  inter- 
preted. We  cannot  know  too  much  about  it,  because  as 
yet  we  know  nothing.  It  is  our  one  great  realm  of  dis- 
covery. The  artist,  if  left  to  himself,  may  be  safely  trusted 
to  observe,  synchronize,  and  articulate  human  knowledge 
in  the  most  palatable  and  delightful  form.  Human  nature 
will  seek  and  have  what  it  needs,  the  vice  crusaders  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding.  There  is  no  compulsion  on  any 
o 


194  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

one  to  read.  One  must  pay  to  do  so.  What  is  more,  one 
must  have  taste  inherently  to  select,  and  a  brain  and  a  heart 
to  understand.  With  all  these  safeguards  and  a  double 
score  of  capable  critics  in  every  land  to  praise  or  blame, 
what  need  really  is  there  for  a  censor,  or  a  dozen  of  them, 
each  far  less  fitted  than  any  of  the  working  critics,  to  indulge 
his  personal  predilection  and  opposition,  and  to  appeal  to 
the  courts  if  he  is  disagreed  with  ? 

Personally,  I  rise  to  protest.  I  look  on  this  interference 
with  serious  art  and  serious  minds  as  an  outrage.  I  fear  for 
the  ultimate  intelligence  of  America,  which  in  all  conscience, 
judged  by  world  standards,  is  low  enough.  In  our  youth 
and  conceit  we  think  ourselves  wise.  Intelligent  cosmopoli- 
tans actually  know  that  our  ignorance  is  appalling.  In  the 
main  we  are  unbelievably  dull  and  wishy-washy.  Now  ap- 
pears a  band  of  wasp-like  censors  to  put  the  finishing  touches 
on  a  literature  and  an  art  that  has  struggled  all  too  feebly 
as  it  is.  Poe,  Hawthorne,  Whitman,  and  Thoreau,  each  in 
turn  was  the  butt  and  jibe  of  unintelligent  Americans,  until 
by  now  we  are  well  nigh  the  laughing  stock  of  the  world. 
Where  is  it  to  end  ?  When  will  we  lay  aside  our  swaddling 
clothes,  enforced  on  us  by  ignorant,  impossible  puritans  and 
their  uneducated  followers,  and  stand  up,  free  thinking 
men  and  women  ?  Life  is  to  be  learned  as  much  from  books 
and  art  as  from  life  itself  —  almost  more  so,  in  my  judgment. 
Art  is  the  stored  honey  of  the  human  soul,  gathered  on  wings 
of  misery  and  travail.  Shall  the  dull  and  the  self-seeking 
and  the  self-advertising  close  this  store  on  the  groping  human 
mind  ? 


ILLUSTRATIONS  195 

THE  MORAL   EQUIVALENT  OF  WAR 

By  William  James  1 

The  war  against  war  is  going  to  be  no  holiday  excursion 
or  camping  party.  The  military  feelings  are  too  deeply 
grounded  to  abdicate  their  place  among  our  ideals  until 
better  substitutes  are  offered  than  the  glory  and  shame  that 
come  to  nations  as  well  as  to  individuals  from  the  ups  and 
downs  of  politics  and  the  vicissitudes  of  trade.  There  is 
something  highly  paradoxical  in  the  modern  man's  relation 
to  war.  Ask  all  our  millions,  north  and  south,  whether  they 
would  vote  now  (were  such  a  thing  possible)  to  have  our 
war  for  the  Union  expunged  from  history,  and  the  record 
of  a  peaceful  transition  to  the  present  time  substituted  for 
that  of  its  marches  and  battles,  and  probably  hardly  a  hand- 
ful of  eccentrics  would  say  yes.  Those  ancestors,  those  ef- 
forts, those  memories  and  legends,  are  the  most  ideal  part  of 
what  we  now  own  together,  a  sacred  spiritual  possession 
worth  more  than  all  the  blood  poured  out.  Yet  ask  those 
same  people  whether  they  would  be  willing  in  cold  blood  to 
start  another  civil  war  now  to  gain  another  similar  posses- 
sion, and  not  one  man  or  women  would  vote  for  the  prop- 
osition. In  modern  eyes,  precious  though  wars  may  be, 
they  must  not  be  waged  solely  for  the  sake  of  the  ideal  har- 
vest. Only  when  forced  upon  one,  only  when  an  enemy's 
injustice  leaves  us  no  alternative,  is  a  war  now  thought 
permissible. 

It  was  not  thus  in  ancient  times.  The  earlier  men  were 
hunting  men,  and  to  hunt  a  neighboring  tribe,  kill  the  males, 
loot  the  village  and  possess  the  females,  was  the  most 
profitable,  as  well  as  the  most  exciting,  way  of  living.     Thus 

1  Reprinted  by  special  permission  of  the  American  Association  for  Inter- 
national Conciliation. 


196  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

were  the  more  martial  tribes  selected,  and  in  chiefs  and 
peoples  a  pure  pugnacity  and  love  of  glory  came  to  mingle 
with  the  more  fundamental  appetite  for  plunder. 

Modern  war  is  so  expensive  that  we  feel  trade  to  be  a 
better  avenue  to  plunder;  but  modern  man  inherits  all  the 
innate  pugnacity  and  all  the  love  of  glory  of  his  ancestors. 
Showing  war's  irrationality  and  horror  is  of  no  effect  upon 
him.  The  horrors  make  the  fascination.  War  is  the  strong 
life;  it  is  life  in  extremis;  war-taxes  are  the  only  ones  men 
never  hesitate  to  pay,   as  the  budgets  of  all  nations  show  us. 

History  is  a  bath  of  blood.  The  Iliad  is  one  long  recital 
of  how  Diomedes  and  Ajax,  Sarpedon  and  Hector  killed. 
No  detail  of  the  wounds  they  made  is  spared  us,  and  the 
Greek  mind  fed  upon  the  story.  Greek  history  is  a  panorama 
of  jingoism  and  imperialism  —  war  for  war's  sake,  all  the 
citizens  being  warriors.  It  is  horrible  reading,  because  of 
the  irrationality  of  it  all  —  save  for  the  purpose  of  making 
"history"  —  and  the  history  is  that  of  the  utter  ruin  of  a 
civilization  in  intellectual  respects  perhaps  the  highest  the 
earth  has  ever  seen. 

Those  wars  were  purely  piratical.  Pride,  gold,  women, 
slaves,  excitement,  were  their  only  motives.  In  the  Pelo- 
ponnesian  war,  for  example,  the  Athenians  ask  the  in- 
habitants of  Melos  (the  island  where  the  "Venus  of  Milo" 
was  found),  hitherto  neutral,  to  own  their  lordship.  The 
envoys  meet,  and  hold  a  debate  which  Thucydides  gives  in 
full,  and  which,  for  sweet  reasonableness  of  form,  would  have 
satisfied  Matthew  Arnold.  "The  powerful  exact  what  they 
can,"  said  the  Athenians,  "and  the  weak  grant  what  they 
must."  When  the  Meleans  say  that  sooner  than  be  slaves 
they  will  appeal  to  the  gods,  the  Athenians  reply:  "Of  the 
gods  we  believe  and  of  men  we  know  that,  by  a  law  of  their 
nature,  wherever  they  can  rule  they  will.  This  law  was 
not  made  by  us,  and  we  are  not  the  first  to  have  acted  upon 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 97 

it;  we  did  but  inherit  it,  and  we  know  that  you  and  all 
mankind,  if  you  were  as  strong  as  we  are,  would  do  as  we 
do.  So  much  for  the  gods  ;  we  have  told  you  why  we  expect 
to  stand  as  high  in  their  good  opinion  as  you."  Well,  the 
Meleans  still  refused,  and  their  town  was  taken.  "The 
Athenians,"  Thucydides  quietly  says,  "thereupon  put  to 
death  all  who  were  of  military  age  and  made  slaves  of  the 
women  and  children.  They  then  colonized  the  island, 
sending  thither  five  hundred  settlers  of  their  own." 

Alexander's  career  was  piracy  pure  and  simple,  nothing 
but  an  orgy  of  power  and  plunder,  made  romantic  by  the 
character  of  the  hero.  There  was  no  rational  principle  in 
it,  and  the  moment  he  died  his  generals  and  governors  at- 
tacked one  another.  The  cruelty  of  those  times  is  incredible. 
When  Rome  finally  conquered  Greece,  Paulus  iEmilius  was 
told  by  the  Roman  Senate  to  reward  his  soldiers  for  their 
toil  by  "giving"  them  the  old  kingdom  of  Epirus.  They 
sacked  seventy  cities  and  carried  off  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  inhabitants  as  slaves.  How  many  they  killed  I 
know  not;  but  in  Etolia  they  killed  all  the  senators,  five 
hundred  and  fifty  in  number.  Brutus  was  "the  noblest 
Roman  of  them  all,"  but  to  reanimate  his  soldiers  on  the 
eve  of  Philippi  he  similarly  promises  to  give  them  the  cities 
of  Sparta  and  Thessalonica  to  ravage,  if  they  win  the  fight. 

Such  was  the  gory  nurse  that  trained  societies  to  cohesive- 
ness.  We  inherit  the  warlike  type ;  and  for  most  of  the 
capacities  of  heroism  that  the  human  race  is  full  of  we  have 
to  thank  this  cruel  history.  Dead  men  tell  no  tales,  and  if 
there  were  any  tribes  of  other  type  than  this  they  have  left 
no  survivors.  Our  ancestors  have  bred  pugnacity  into  our 
bone  and  marrow,  and  thousands  of  years  of  peace  won't 
breed  it  out  of  us.  The  popular  imagination  fairly  fattens  on 
the  thought  of  wars.  Let  public  opinion  once  reach  a  cer- 
tain fighting  pitch,  and  no  ruler  can  withstand  it.     In  the 


198  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

Boer  war  both  governments  began  with  bluff,  but  couldn't 
stay  there,  the  military  tension  was  too  much  for  them. 
In  1898  our  people  had  read  the  word  WAR  in  letters  three 
inches  high  for  three  months  in  every  newspaper.  The 
pliant  politician  McKinley  was  swept  away  by  their  eager- 
ness, and  our  squalid  war  with  Spain  became  a  necessity. 

At  the  present  day,  civilized  opinion  is  a  curious  mental 
mixture.  The  military  instincts  and  ideals  are  as  strong 
as  ever,  but  are  confronted  by  reflective  criticisms  which 
sorely  curb  their  ancient  freedom.  Innumerable  writers 
are  showing  up  the  bestial  side  of  military  service.  Pure 
loot  and  mastery  seem  no  longer  morally  avowable  motives, 
and  pretexts  must  be  found  for  attributing  them  solely  to 
the  enemy.  England  and  we,  our  army  and  navy  authorities 
repeat  without  ceasing,  arm  solely  for  "peace,"  Germany 
and  Japan  it  is  who  are  bent  on  loot  and  glory.  "Peace" 
in  military  mouths  to-day  is  a  synonym  for  "war  expected." 
The  word  has  become  a  pure  provocative,  and  no  govern- 
ment wishing  peace  sincerely  should  allow  it  ever  to  be  printed 
in  a  newspaper.  Every  up-to-date  dictionary  should  say 
that  "peace"  and  "war"  mean  the  same  thing,  now  in 
posse,  now  in  actu.  It  may  even  reasonably  be  said  that 
the  intensely  sharp  competitive  -preparation  for  war  by  the 
nations  is  the  real  war,  permanent,  unceasing ;  and  that 
the  battles  are  only  a  sort  of  public  verification  of  the  mas- 
tery gained  during  the  "peace "-interval. 

It  is  plain  that  on  this  subject  civilized  man  has  developed 
a  sort  of  double  personality.  If  we  take  European  nations, 
no  legitimate  interest  of  any  one  of  them  would  seem  to 
justify  the  tremendous  destructions  which  a  war  to  com- 
pass it  would  necessarily  entail.  It  would  seem  as  though 
common  sense  and  reason  ought  to  find  a  way  to  reach  agree- 
ment in  every  conflict  of  honest  interests.  I  myself  think 
it  our  bounden  duty  to  believe  in  such  international  ration- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  1 99 

ality  as  possible.  But,  as  things  stand,  I  see  how  desperately 
hard  it  is  to  bring  the  peace-party  and  the  war-party  to- 
gether, and  I  believe  that  the  difficulty  is  due  to  certain 
deficiencies  in  the  program  of  pacificism  which  set  the  mili- 
tarist imagination  strongly,  and  to  a  certain  extent  justifi- 
ably, against  it.  In  the  whole  discussion  both  sides  are  on 
imaginative  and  sentimental  ground.  It  is  but  one  Utopia 
against  another,  and  everything  one  says  must  be  abstract 
and  hypothetical.  Subject  to  this  criticism  and  caution,  I 
will  try  to  characterize  in  abstract  strokes  the  opposite 
imaginative  forces,  and  point  out  what  to  my  own  very  fallible 
mind  seems  the  best  Utopian  hypothesis,  the  most  promising 
line  of  conciliation. 

In  my  remarks,  pacificist  though  I  am,  I  will  refuse  to 
speak  of  the  bestial  side  of  the  war-regime  (already  done  jus- 
tice to  by  many  writers)  and  consider  only  the  higher  aspects 
of  militaristic  sentiment.  Patriotism  no  one  thinks  dis- 
creditable ;  nor  does  any  one  deny  that  war  is  the  romance 
of  history.  But  inordinate  ambitions  are  the  soul  of  every 
patriotism,  and  the  possibility  of  violent  death  the  soul  of  all 
romance.  The  militarily  patriotic  and  romantic-minded 
everywhere,  and  especially  the  professional  military  class, 
refuse  to  admit  for  a  moment  that  war  may  be  a  transitory 
phenomenon  in  social  evolution.  The  notion  of  a  sheep's 
paradise  like  that  revolts,  they  say,  our  higher  imagination. 
Where  then  would  be  the  steeps  of  life  ?  If  war  had  ever 
stopped,  we  should  have  to  reinvent  it,  on  this  view,  to 
redeem  life  from  flat  degeneration. 

Reflective  apologists  for  war  at  the  present  day  all  take  it 
religiously.  It  is  a  sort  of  sacrament.  Its  profits  are  to 
the  vanquished  as  well  as  to  the  victor;  and  quite  apart 
from  any  question  of  profit,  it  is  an  absolute  good,  we  are 
told,  for  it  is  human  nature  at  its  highest  dynamic.  Its 
"horrors"  are  a  cheap  price  to  pay  for  rescue  from  the  only 


200  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

alternative  supposed,  of  a  world  of  clerks  and  teachers,  of 
co-education  and  zoophily,  of  "consumer's  leagues"  and 
"associated  charities,"  of  industrialism  unlimited,  and 
feminism  unabashed.  No  scorn,  no  hardness,  no  valor  any- 
more !     Fie  upon  such  a  cattle  yard  of  a  planet ! 

So  far  as  the  central  essence  of  this  feeling  goes,  no  healthy 
minded  person,  it  seems  to  me,  can  help  to  some  degree 
partaking  of  it.  Militarism  is  the  great  preserver  of  our 
ideals  of  hardihood,  and  human  life  with  no  use  for  hardi- 
hood would  be  contemptible.  Without  risks  or  prizes  for 
the  darer,  history  would  be  insipid  indeed ;  and  there  is  a 
type  of  military  character  which  every  one  feels  that  the  race 
should  never  cease  to  breed,  for  every  one  is  sensitive  to  its 
superiority.  The  duty  is  incumbent  on  mankind,  of  keep- 
ing military  characters  in  stock  —  of  keeping  them,  if  not 
for  use,  then  as  ends  in  themselves  and  as  pure  pieces  of  per- 
fection, —  so  that  Roosevelt's  weaklings  and  mollycoddles 
may  not  end  by  making  everything  else  disappear  from  the 
face  of  nature. 

This  natural  sort  of  feeling  forms,  I  think,  the  innermost 
soul  of  army-writings.  Without  any  exception  known  to 
me,  militarist  authors  take  a  highly  mystical  view  of  their 
subject,  and  regard  war  as  a  biological  or  sociological  neces- 
sity, uncontrolled  by  ordinary  psychological  checks  and 
motives.  When  the  time  of  development  is  ripe  the  war 
must  come,  reason  or  no  reason,  for  the  justifications  pleaded 
are  invariably  fictitious.  War  is,  in  short,  a  permanent 
human  obligation.  General  Homer  Lea,  in  his  recent  book 
"The  Valor  of  Ignorance,"  plants  himself  squarely  on  this 
ground.  Readiness  for  war  is  for  him  the  essence  of  national- 
ity, and  ability  in  it  the  supreme  measure  of  the  health  of 
nations. 

Nations,  General  Lea  says,  are  never  stationary  —  they 
must  necessarily  expand  or  shrink,  according  to  their  vi- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  201 

tality  or  decrepitude.  Japan  now  is  culminating;  and  by 
the  fatal  law  in  question  it  is  impossible  that  her  statesmen 
should  not  long  since  have  entered,  with  extraordinary  fore- 
sight, upon  a  vast  policy  of  conquest  —  the  game  in  which 
the  first  moves  were  her  wars  with  China  and  Russia  and 
her  treaty  with  England,  and  of  which  the  final  objective 
is  the  capture  of  the  Philippines,  the  Hawaiian  Islands, 
Alaska,  and  the  whole  of  our  coast  west  of  the  Sierra  Passes. 
This  will  give  Japan  what  her  ineluctable  vocation  as  a 
state  absolutely  forces  her  to  claim,  the  possession  of  the 
entire  Pacific  Ocean ;  and  to  oppose  these  deep  designs  we 
Americans  have,  according  to  our  author,  nothing  but  our 
conceit,  our  ignorance,  our  commercialism,  our  corruption, 
and  our  feminism.  General  Lea  makes  a  minute  technical 
comparison  of  the  military  strength  which  we  at  present 
could  oppose  to  the  strength  of  Japan,  and  concludes  that  the 
islands,  Alaska,  Oregon,  and  Southern  California,  would 
fall  almost  without  resistance,  that  San  Francisco  must  sur- 
render in  a  fortnight  to  a  Japanese  investment,  that  in  three 
or  four  months  the  war  would  be  over,  and  our  republic, 
unable  to  regain  what  it  had  heedlessly  neglected  to  protect 
sufficiently,  would  then  "disintegrate,"  until  perhaps  some 
Caesar  should  arise  to  weld  us  again  into  a  nation. 

A  dismal  forecast  indeed  !  Yet  not  unplausible,  if  the  men- 
tality of  Japan's  statesmen  be  of  the  Caesarian  type  of  which 
history  shows  so  many  examples,  and  which  is  all  that  Gen- 
eral Lea  seems  able  to  imagine.  But  there  is  no  reason  to 
think  that  women  can  no  longer  be  the  mothers  of  Napo- 
leonic or  Alexandrian  characters ;  and  if  these  come  in 
Japan  and  find  their  opportunity,  just  such  surprises  as 
"The  Valor  of  Ignorance"  paints  may  lurk  in  ambush  for 
us.  Ignorant  as  we  still  are  of  the  innermost  recesses  of 
Japanese  mentality,  we  may  be  foolhardy  to  disregard  such 
possibilities. 


202  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Other  militarists  are  more  complex  and  more  moral  in 
their  considerations.  The  "Philosophic  des  Krieges,"  by 
S.  R.  Steinmetz,  is  a  good  example.  War,  according  to  this 
author,  is  an  ordeal  instituted  by  God,  who  weighs  the 
nations  in  its  balance.  It  is  the  essential  form  of  the  state, 
and  the  only  function  in  which  peoples  can  employ  all  their 
powers  at  once  and  convergently.  No  victory  is  possible 
save  as  the  resultant  of  a  totality  of  virtues,  no  defeat  for 
which  some  vice  or  weakness  is  not  responsible.  Fidelity, 
cohesiveness,  tenacity,  heroism,  conscience,  education,  in- 
ventiveness, economy,  wealth,  physical  health  and  vigor  — 
there  isn't  a  moral  or  intellectual  point  of  superiority  that 
doesn't  tell,  when  God  holds  his  assizes  and  hurls  the  peoples 
upon  one  another.  Die  Weltgeschichte  ist  das  Weltgericht; 
and  Dr.  Steinmetz  does  not  believe  that  in  the  long  run 
chance  and  luck  play  any  part  in  apportioning  the  issues. 

The  virtues  that  prevail,  it  must  be  noted,  are  virtues 
anyhow,  superiorities  that  count  in  peaceful  as  well  as  in 
military  competition ;  but  the  strain  on  them,  being  in- 
finitely intenser  in  the  latter  case,  makes  war  infinitely  more 
searching  as  a  trial.  No  ordeal  is  comparable  to  its  win- 
nowings.  Its  dread  hammer  is  the  welder  of  men  into  co- 
hesive states,  and  nowhere  but  in  such  states  can  human 
nature  adequately  develop  its  capacity.  The  only  alter- 
native is  "degeneration." 

Dr.  Steinmetz  is  a  conscientious  thinker,  and  his  book, 
short  as  it  is,  takes  much  into  account.  Its  upshot  can,  it 
seems  to  me,  be  summed  up  in  Simon  Patten's  word,  that 
mankind  was  nursed  in  pain  and  fear,  and  that  the  transition 
to  a  "pleasure-economy"  may  be  fatal  to  a  being  wielding  no 
powers  of  defense  against  its  disintegrative  influences.  If  we 
speak  of  the  fear  of  emancipation  from  the  fear-regime,  we  put 
the  whole  situation  into  a  single  phrase;  fear  regarding  our- 
selves now  taking  the  place  of  the  ancient  fear  of  the  enemy. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  203 

Turn  the  fear  over  as  I  will  in  my  mind,  it  all  seems  to 
lead  back  to  two  unwillingnesses  of  the  imagination,  one 
aesthetic,  and  the  other  moral :  unwillingness,  first  to  en- 
visage a  future  in  which  army-life,  with  its  many  elements 
of  charm,  shall  be  forever  impossible,  and  in  which  the 
destinies  of  peoples  shall  nevermore  be  decided  quickly, 
thrillingly,  and  tragically,  by  force,  but  only  gradually 
and  insipidly  by  "evolution";  and,  secondly,  unwillingness 
to  see  the  supreme  theatre  of  human  strenuousness  closed, 
and  the  splendid  military  aptitudes  of  men  doomed  to  keep 
always  in  a  state  of  latency  and  never  show  themselves  in 
action.  These  insistent  unwillingnesses,  no  less  than  other 
aesthetic  and  ethical  insistencies,  have,  it  seems  to  me,  to  be 
listened  to  and  respected.  One  cannot  meet  them  effec- 
tively by  mere  counter-insistency  on  war's  expensiveness 
and  horror.  The  horror  makes  the  thrill ;  and  when  the 
question  is  of  getting  the  extremest  and  supremest  out  of 
human  nature,  talk  of  expense  sounds  ignominious.  The 
weakness  of  so  much  merely  negative  criticism  is  evident  — 
pacificism  makes  no  converts  from  the  military  party.  The 
military  party  denies  neither  the  bestiality  nor  the  horror, 
nor  the  expense;  it  only  says  that  these  things  tell  but  half 
the  story.  It  only  says  that  war  is  worth  them ;  that,  tak- 
ing human  nature  as  a  whole,  its  wars  are  its  best  protection 
against  its  weaker  and  more  cowardly  self,  and  that  mankind 
cannot  afford  to  adopt  a  peace-economy. 

Pacificists  ought  to  enter  more  deeply  into  the  aesthetical 
and  ethical  point  of  view  of  their  opponents.  Do  that 
first  in  any  controversy,  says  J.  J.  Chapman,  then  move  the 
point,  and  your  opponent  will  follow.  So  long  as  anti- 
militarists  propose  no  substitute  for  war's  disciplinary  func- 
tion, no  moral  equivalent  of  war,  analogous,  as  one  might 
say,  to  the  mechanical  equivalent  of  heat,  so  long  they  fail 
to  realize  the  full  inwardness  of  the  situation.     And  as  a 


204  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

rule  they  do  fail.  The  duties,  penalties,  and  sanctions  pic- 
tured in  the  Utopias  they  paint  are  all  too  weak  and  tame 
to  touch  the  military-minded.  Tolstoy's  pacificism  is  the 
only  exception  to  this  rule,  for  it  is  profoundly  pessimistic 
as  regards  all  this  world's  values,  and  makes  the  fear  of  the 
Lord  furnish  the  moral  spur  provided  elsewhere  by  the 
fear  of  the  enemy.  But  our  socialistic  peace-advocates  all 
believe  absolutely  in  this  world's  values ;  and  instead  of  the 
fear  of  the  Lord  and  the  fear  of  the  enemy,  the  only  fear 
they  reckon  with  is  the  fear  of  poverty  if  one  be  lazy.  This 
weakness  pervades  all  the  socialistic  literature  with  which 
I  am  acquainted.  Even  in  Lowes  Dickinson's  exquisite 
dialogue,1  high  wages  and  short  hours  are  the  only  forces 
invoked  for  overcoming  man's  distaste  for  repulsive  kinds 
of  labor.  Meanwhile  men  at  large  still  live  as  they  always 
have  lived,  under  a  pain-and-fear  economy  —  for  those  of 
us  who  live  in  an  ease-economy  are  but  an  island  in  the 
stormy  ocean  —  and  the  whole  atmosphere  of  present-day 
Utopian  literature  tastes  mawkish  and  dishwatery  to  peo- 
ple who  still  keep  a  sense  for  life's  more  bitter  flavors.  It 
suggests,  in  truth,  ubiquitous  inferiority. 

Inferiority  is  always  with  us,  and  merciless  scorn  of  it  is 
the  keynote  of  the  military  temper.  "Dogs,  would  you 
live  forever?"  shouted  Frederick  the  Great.  "Yes,"  say 
our  Utopians,  "let  us  live  forever,  and  raise  our  level  grad- 
ually." The  best  thing  about  our  "inferiors"  to-day  is 
that  they  are  as  tough  as  nails,  and  physically  and  morally 
almost  as  insensitive.  Utopianism  would  see  them  soft 
and  squeamish,  while  militarism  would  keep  their  callous- 
ness, but  transfigure  it  into  a  meritorious  characteristic, 
needed  by  "the  service,"  and  redeemed  by  that  from  the 
suspicion  of  inferiority.  All  the  qualities  of  a  man  acquire 
dignity  when  he  knows  that  the  service  of  the  collectivity 
1  "Justice  and  Liberty,"  N.  Y.,  1909. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  205 

that  owns  him  needs  them.  If  proud  of  the  collectivity,  his 
own  pride  rises  in  proportion.  No  collectivity  is  like  an 
army  for  nourishing  such  pride;  but  it  has  to  be  confessed 
that  the  only  sentiment  which  the  image  of  pacific  cosmo- 
politan industrialism  is  capable  of  arousing  in  countless 
worthy  breasts  is  shame  at  the  idea  of  belonging  to  such  a 
collectivity.  It  is  obvious  that  the  United  States  of  America 
as  they  exist  to-day  impress  a  mind  like  General  Lea's  as 
so  much  human  blubber.  Where  is  the  sharpness  and 
precipitousness,  the  contempt  for  life,  whether  one's  own, 
or  another's?  Where  is  the  savage  "yes"  and  "no,"  the 
unconditional  duty  ?  Where  is  the  conscription  ?  Where 
is  the  blood-tax  ?  Where  is  anything  that  one  feels  honored 
by  belonging  to  ? 

Having  said  thus  much  in  preparation,  I  will  now  confess 
my  own  Utopia.  I  devoutly  believe  in  the  reign  of  peace  and 
in  the  gradual  advent  of  some  sort  of  a  socialistic  equilibrium. 
The  fatalistic  view  of  the  war-function  is  to  me  nonsense,  for 
I  know  that  war-making  is  due  to  definite  motives  and 
subject  to  prudential  checks  and  reasonable  criticisms,  just 
like  any  other  form  of  enterprise.  And  when  whole  nations 
are  the  armies,  and  the  science  of  destruction  vies  in  intel- 
lectual refinement  with  the  sciences  of  production,  I  see 
that  war  becomes  absurd  and  impossible  from  its  own  mon- 
strosity. Extravagant  ambitions  will  have  to  be  replaced 
by  reasonable  claims,  and  nations  must  make  common  cause 
against  them.  I  see  no  reason  why  all  this  should  not  apply 
to  yellow  as  well  as  to  white  countries,  and  I  look  forward  to 
a  future  when  acts  of  war  shall  be  formally  outlawed  as  be- 
tween civilized  peoples. 

All  these  beliefs  of  mine  put  me  squarely  into  the  anti- 
militarist  party.  But  I  do  not  believe  that  peace  either 
ought  to  be  or  will  be  permanent  on  this  globe,  unless  the 
states  pacifically  organized  preserve  some  of  the  old  elements 


206  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

of  army-discipline.  A  permanently  successful  peace-econ- 
omy cannot  be  a  simple  pleasure-economy.  In  the  more  or 
less  socialistic  future  towards  which  mankind  seems  drifting 
we  must  still  subject  ourselves  collectively  to  those  severities 
which  answer  to  our  real  position  upon  this  only  partly  hos- 
pitable globe.  We  must  make  new  energies  and  hardihoods 
continue  the  manliness  to  which  the  military  mind  so  faith- 
fully clings.  Martial  virtues  must  be  the  enduring  cement; 
intrepidity,  contempt  of  softness,  surrender  of  private  in- 
terest, obedience  to  command,  must  still  remain  the  rock 
upon  which  states  are  built  —  unless,  indeed,  we  wish  for 
dangerous  reactions  against  commonwealths  fit  only  for 
contempt,  and  liable  to  invite  attack  whenever  a  centre  of 
crystallization  for  military-minded  enterprise  gets  formed 
anywhere  in  their  neighborhood. 

The  war-party  is  assuredly  right  in  affirming  and  reaffirm- 
ing that  the  martial  virtues,  although  originally  gained  by 
the  race  through  war,  are  absolute  and  permanent  human 
goods.  Patriotic  pride  and  ambition  in  their  military 
form  are,  after  all,  only  specifications  of  a  more  general  com- 
petitive passion.  They  are  its  first  form,  but  that  is  no  rea- 
son for  supposing  them  to  be  its  last  form.  Men  now  are 
proud  of  belonging  to  a  conquering  nation,  and  without  a 
murmur  they  lay  down  their  persons  and  their  wealth,  if  by 
so  doing  they  may  fend  off  subjection.  But  who  can  be 
sure  that  other  aspects  of  one's  country  may  not,  with  time 
and  education  and  suggestion  enough,  come  to  be  regarded 
with  similarly  effective  feelings  of  pride  and  shame  ?  Why 
should  men  not  some  day  feel  that  it  is  worth  a  blood-tax 
to  belong  to  a  collectivity  superior  in  any  ideal  respect  ? 
Why  should  they  not  blush  with  indignant  shame  if  the 
community  that  owns  them  is  vile  in  any  way  whatsoever? 
Individuals,  daily  more  numerous,  now  feel  this  civic  pas- 
sion.    It  is  only  a  question  of  blowing  on  the  spark  till  the 


ILLUSTRATIONS  207 

whole  population  gets  incandescent,  and  on  the  ruins  of  the 
old  morals  of  military  honour,  a  stable  system  of  morals  of 
civic  honour  builds  itself  up.  What  the  whole  community 
comes  to  believe  in  grasps  the  individual  as  in  a  vise.  The 
war-function  has  graspt  us  so  far;  but  constructive  inter- 
ests may  some  day  seem  no  less  imperative,  and  impose  on 
the  individual  a  hardly  lighter  burden. 

Let  me  illustrate  my  idea  more  concretely.  There  is  noth- 
ing to  make  one  indignant  in  the  mere  fact  that  life  is  hard, 
that  men  should  toil  and  suffer  pain.  The  planetary  con- 
ditions once  for  all  are  such,  and  we  can  stand  it.  But  that 
so  many  men,  by  mere  accidents  of  birth  and  opportunity, 
should  have  a  life  of  nothing  else  but  toil  and  pain  and  hard- 
ness and  inferiority  imposed  upon  them,  should  have  no 
vacation,  while  others  natively  no  more  deserving  never  get 
any  taste  of  this  campaigning  life  at  all,  —  this  is  capable 
of  arousing  indignation  in  reflective  minds.  It  may  end  by 
seeming  shameful  to  all  of  us  that  some  of  us  have  nothing 
but  campaigning,  and  others  nothing  but  unmanly  ease. 
If  now  —  and  this  is  my  idea  —  there  were,  instead  of  mili- 
tary conscription,  a  conscription  of  the  whole  youthful 
population  to  form  for  a  certain  number  of  years  a  part  of 
the  army  enlisted  against  Nature,  the  injustice  would  tend 
to  be  evened  out,  and  numerous  other  goods  to  the  com- 
monwealth would  follow.  The  military  ideals  of  hardihood 
and  discipline  would  be  wrought  into  the  growing  fibre  of 
the  people;  no  one  would  remain  blind  as  the  luxurious 
classes  now  are  blind,  to  man's  real  relations  to  the  globe 
he  lives  on,  and  to  the  permanently  sour  and  hard  founda- 
tions of  his  higher  life.  To  coal  and  iron  mines,  to  freight 
trains,  to  fishing  fleets  in  December,  to  dish-washing,  clothes- 
washing,  and  window-washing,  to  road-building  and  tunnel- 
making,  to  foundries  and  stoke-holes,  and  to  the  frames  of 
skyscrapers,  would  our  gilded  youths  be  drafted  off,  accord- 


208  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

ing  to  their  choice,  to  get  the  childishness  knocked  out  of 
them,  and  to  come  back  into  society  with  healthier  sympa- 
thies and  soberer  ideas.  They  would  have  paid  their  blood- 
tax,  done  their  own  part  in  the  immemorial  human  warfare 
against  nature,  they  would  tread  the  earth  more  proudly, 
the  women  would  value  them  more  highly,  they  would  be 
better  fathers  and  teachers  of  the  following  generation. 

Such  a  conscription,  with  the  state  of  public  opinion  that 
would  have  required  it,  and  the  many  moral  fruits  it  would 
bear,  would  preserve  in  the  midst  of  a  pacific  civilization  the 
manly  virtues  which  the  military  party  is  so  afraid  of  see- 
ing disappear  in  peace.  We  should  get  toughness  without 
callousness,  authority  with  as  little  criminal  cruelty  as  pos- 
sible, and  painful  work  done  cheerily  because  the  duty  is 
temporary,  and  threatens  not,  as  now,  to  degrade  the  whole 
remainder  of  one's  life.  I  spoke  of  the  "moral  equivalent" 
of  war.  So  far,  war  has  been  the  only  force  that  can  disci- 
pline a  whole  community,  and  until  an  equivalent  discipline 
is  organized,  I  believe  that  war  must  have  its  way.  But 
I  have  no  serious  doubt  that  the  ordinary  prides  and  shames 
of  social  man,  once  developed  to  a  certain  intensity,  are 
capable  of  organizing  such  a  moral  equivalent  as  I  have 
sketched,  or  some  other  just  as  effective  for  preserving 
manliness  of  type.  It  is  but  a  question  of  time,  of  skillful 
propagandism,  and  of  opinion-making  men  seizing  historic 
opportunities. 

The  martial  type  of  character  can  be  bred  without  war. 
Strenuous  honour  and  disinterestedness  abound  elsewhere. 
Priests  and  medical  men  are  in  a  fashion  educated  to  it,  and 
we  should  all  feel  some  degree  of  it  imperative  if  we  were 
conscious  of  our  work  as  an  obligatory  service  to  the  state. 
We  should  be  owned,  as  soldiers  are  by  the  army,  and  our 
pride  would  rise  accordingly.  We  could  be  poor,  then, 
without  humiliation,  as  army  officers  now  are.     The  only 


ILLUSTRATIONS  209 

thing  needed  henceforward  is  to  inflame  the  civic  temper  as 
past  history  has  inflamed  the  military  temper.  H.  G.  Wells, 
as  usual,  sees  the  centre  of  the  situation.  "In  many  ways," 
he  says,  "military  organization  is  the  most  peaceful  of 
activities.  When  the  contemporary  man  steps  from  the 
street,  of  clamorous  insincere  advertisement,  push,  adulter- 
ation, underselling  and  intermittent  employment,  into  the 
barrack-yard,  he  steps  on  to  a  higher  social  plane,  into  an 
atmosphere  of  service  and  co-operation  and  of  infinitely 
more  honourable  emulations.  Here  at  least  men  are  not 
flung  out  of  employment  to  degenerate  because  there  is  no 
immediate  work  for  them  to  do.  They  are  fed  and  drilled 
and  trained  for  better  services.  Here  at  least  a  man  is  sup- 
posed to  win  promotion  by  self-forgetfulness  and  not  by 
self-seeking.  And  beside  the  feeble  and  irregular  endowment 
of  research  by  commercialism,  its  little  short-sighted  snatches 
at  profit  by  innovation  and  scientific  economy,  see  how  re- 
markable is  the  steady  and  rapid  development  of  method 
and  appliances  in  naval  and  military  affairs !  Nothing  is 
more  striking  than  to  compare  the  progress  of  civil  con- 
veniences which  has  been  left  almost  entirely  to  the  trader, 
to  the  progress  in  military  apparatus  during  the  last  few 
decades.  The  house-appliances  of  to-day,  for  example,  are 
little  better  than  they  were  fifty  years  ago.  A  house  of  to- 
day is  still  almost  as  ill-ventilated,  badly  heated  by  wasteful 
fires,  clumsily  arranged  and  furnished  as  the  house  of  1858. 
Houses  a  couple  of  hundred  years  old  are  still  satisfactory 
places  of  residence,  so  little  have  our  standards  risen.  But 
the  rifle  or  battleship  of  fifty  years  ago  was  beyond  all  com- 
parison inferior  to  those  we  possess ;  in  power,  in  speed,  in 
convenience  alike.  No  one  has  a  use  now  for  such  superan- 
nuated things."  * 

Wells  adds  2  that  he  thinks  that  the  conceptions  of  order 

1  "  First  and  Last  Things,"  1908,  p.  215.  2  Ibid.,  p.  226. 

P 


21 0  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

and  discipline,  the  tradition  of  service  and  devotion,  of 
physical  fitness,  unstinted  exertion,  and  universal  responsi- 
bility, which  universal  military  duty  is  now  teaching  Eu- 
ropean nations,  will  remain  a  permanent  acquisition,  when 
the  last  ammunition  has  been  used  in  the  fireworks  that 
celebrate  the  final  peace.  I  believe  as  he  does.  It  would 
be  simply  preposterous  if  the  only  force  that  could  work 
ideals  of  honour  and  standards  of  efficiency  into  English  or 
American  natures  should  be  the  fear  of  being  killed  by  the 
Germans  or  the  Japanese.  Great  indeed  is  Fear;  but  it  is 
not,  as  our  military  enthusiasts  believe  and  try  to  make  us 
believe,  the  only  stimulus  known  for  awakening  the  higher 
ranges  of  men's  spiritual  energy.  The  amount  of  alteration 
in  public  opinion  which  my  Utopia  postulates  is  vastly  less 
than  the  difference  between  the  mentality  of  those  black 
warriors  who  pursued  Stanley's  party  on  the  Congo  with 
their  cannibal  war-cry  of  "Meat!  Meat"  and  that  of  the 
"general-staff"  of  any  civilized  nation.  History  has  seen 
the  latter  interval  bridged  over:  the  former  one  can  be 
bridged  over  much  more  easily. 

THE   PROLONGATION  OF  PEACE1 

By  Simeon  Strunsky 

One  historic  controversy  which  history  has  passed  over 
in  silence  goes  back  only  a  matter  of  twenty-odd  years  to 
the  time  when  Behring  announced  the  discovery  of  his  anti- 
toxin for  diphtheria.  Of  course  people  immediately  took 
sides.  Against  Behring  and  his  serum  it  was  argued  that  the 
Klebs-Loeffler  bacillus  had  been  active  from  the  beginning 
of  mankind,  not  to  mention  the  rabbit  and  the  guinea-pig. 
It  was  absurd  to  suppose  that  the  human  body  would  ever 

1  Reprinted  from  "The  Yale  Review"  by  special  permission  of  the  edi- 
tors, and  the  author  of  the  essay. 


ILUSTRATIONS  211 

cease  to  be  a  host  for  some  form  of  parasite  or  other.  Chil- 
dren had  always  been  dying  of  acute  sore  throat  and  would 
continue  to  die.  Diphtheria,  dispassionately  regarded,  had 
its  role  in  natural  selection.  It  eliminated  the  weaklings, 
and  so  worked  directly  against  racial  degeneracy.  But  even 
more  important  were  its  effects  in  the  spiritual  progress  of 
mankind.  Diphtheria  was  a  moral  tonic  for  parentage. 
It  braced  up  the  mothers  of  the  race.  It  supplied  them 
with  an  opportunity  for  displaying  the  valuable  qualities  of 
service  and  self-sacrifice  while  the  child  was  sick,  and  of 
tight-lipped  resignation  when  the  child  died. 

The  advocates  of  antitoxin  usually  replied  with  a  mixture 
of  practical  and  humanitarian  considerations.  They  pointed 
out  the  enormous  economic  waste  attributable  to  the  Klebs- 
Loeffler  bacillus.  Assuming  that  every  child,  when  he  grew 
up,  represented  an  addition  of  at  least  $5,000  to  the  national 
wealth,  the  ravages  of  diphtheria  easily  ran  into  hundreds 
of  million  dollars  annually.  There  was  the  heavy  cost  of 
medical  service.  There  was  the  large  expenditure  connected 
with  the  final  disposition  of  the  little  victims  who  failed  to 
recover.  There  was  the  loss  of  family  income,  arising  either 
from  the  father's  enforced  idleness  at  the  sick  bed,  as 
often  happens,  or  in  any  case  from  a  depressed  vitality 
which  for  several  months  was  bound  to  affect  the  father's 
earning  powers.  From  the  humanitarian  point  of  view 
people  deplored  the  wastage  of  human  life,  regarded  not 
as  an  economic  factor  but  as  something  desirable  in  itself. 
They  drew  heart-rending  pictures  of  little  faces  aglow 
with  fever,  of  little  bodies  contorted  with  pain,  of  little 
throats  choking  for  breath.  They  spoke  of  the  agony  of 
mothers. 

The  force  of  this  argument  the  anti-Behringites  did  not 
attempt  to  deny.  They  yielded  to  no  one  in  their  pity  for 
suffering.     But  as  men  who  faced  life  squarely  they  could 


212  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

only  ask :  How  shall  it  be  otherwise  ?  Has  Behring  found 
the  secret  of  immortality  ? 

If  this  controversy,  as  I  have  said,  has  been  neglected  by 
the  historians  and  is  not  to  be  traced  even  in  the  newspaper 
files  of  the  period,  the  probable  reason  is  that  the  controversy 
never  took  place ;  at  least  not  in  the  exact  form  I  have  given 
to  it.  And  yet  that  is  precisely  the  form  which  the  debate 
would  have  assumed  if  the  quarrel  over  the  Klebs-Loeffler 
bacillus  had  been  carried  on  after  the  fashion  in  which  the 
great  quarrel  over  the  Gobineau-Bernhardi  war  bacillus  is 
conducted  to-day.  On  the  one  hand,  you  have  the  same 
insistence  on  the  fact  that  war  always  has  been,  and  there- 
fore, in  all  likelihood,  always  will  be ;  the  same  emphasis  on 
war  as  a  biological  factor  in  the  survival  of  races ;  the  same 
glorification  of  war  as  a  moral  factor,  its  enmity  to  sloth, 
cowardice,  luxury,  selfishness.  On  the  other  hand,  you  have 
the  economic  wastage  of  the  battlefield,  the  prodigious  cost 
of  armaments,  young  life  blasted  in  its  promise,  trenches, 
hospitals,  widows,  orphans.  And  the  outcome  of  the  debate 
is  the  same.  "No  one  deplores  more  than  I  do  the  horrors 
of  war,"  says  Gobineau-Bernhardi,  "but  have  you  found  a 
way  to  stop  all  war?" 

Thus  both  sides  keep  hard  at  it,  in  utter  disregard  of  the 
fact  that  since  the  discovery  of  an  antitoxin  in  1894  the 
mortality  rate  for  diphtheria  has  been  reduced  from  forty- 
five  per  cent  to  ten  per  cent. 

It  is  amazing  how  easily  men  who  believe  that  war  is  an 
evil  thing  will  let  themselves  be  manoeuvred  into  the  indefen- 
sible position  of  maintaining  that  the  only  alternative  to  war 
according  to  Bernhardi  is  the  abolition  of  war.  Either  it 
must  be  twenty  years  of  world  history  splashed  with  at  least 
half  a  dozen  heavy  blood-lettings  —  Chino-Japanese  war, 
Spanish-American  war,  Boer  war,  Russo-Japanese  war, 
Balkan  wars,  the  European  war  —  or  else  it  must  be   an 


ILLUSTRATIONS  21 3 

endless  future  of  unbroken  peace.  Only  it  is  wrong  to  say 
manoeuvred.  The  anti-militarist  too  often  plunges  of  his 
own  free  will  into  this  Sedan  of  perpetual  peace.  It  is  true 
that  there  are  some  who  believe  that  war  may  be  eliminated 
provided  we  make  the  effort  and  pay  the  price.  But  there 
are  a  great  many  of  us  who  do  not  go  so  far  as  Tolstoi  and 
non-resistance,  yet  for  whom  there  is  apparently  no  middle 
ground  between  Gobineau-Bernhardi  on  the  one  hand  and 
the  dream  of  perpetual  peace  on  the  other.  We  feel  that 
six  great  wars  and  a  dozen  small  wars  in  the  course  of  twenty 
years  are  an  evil  and  unnecessary  thing.  "Oh,  then,  you 
believe  there  is  a  time  coming  when  men  will  forget  how  to 
fight,  when  Frenchmen  and  Germans  and  Hindus  and 
Japanese  will  foregather  like  the  Biblical  lion  and  lamb?" 
No,  that  is  not  what  we  believe.  But  radical  Bernhardi- 
ism  and  radical  pacifism  have  so  shaped  the  debate  that 
apparently  you  must  be  with  one  or  the  other.  Between  the 
two  lies  No  Man's  Land.  And  the  man  who  is  nearer  in 
heart  to  the  pacifist  ideal,  lets  it  go  at  that,  puts  on  the 
pacifist  uniform,  and  shoulders  a  gun  in  defense  of  a  cause 
that  is  not  altogether  his  own. 

He  forgets,  as  I  have  already  said,  that  it  is  not  necessary 
to  bring  forward  the  elixir  of  life  as  an  alternative  to  letting 
children  die  of  diphtheria,  that  a  reduction  in  mortality  from 
forty-five  per  cent  to  ten  per  cent  is  a  very  good  thing  in 
itself.  The  scientists  at  the  Rockefeller  Institute  are  not 
tackling  the  problem  of  the  elimination  of  death,  but  they 
are  very  much  concerned  with  the  problem  of  prolonging 
life.  Ever  so  much  has  been  written  and  said  about  the 
elimination  of  war,  and  very  little  about  the  prolongation  of 
peace. 

Coupled  with  this  fundamental  error  of  conception  which 
speaks  of  the  "end  of  war,"  of  a  "permanent  peace,"  of  a 
"warless  world,"  is  the  error  of  judgment  which  would  have 


214  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

the  great  ideal  attained  through  some  mechanical  device.  It 
is  seemingly  inevitable  that  it  should  be  so.  If  peace  is  to 
be  eternal  and  unshaken,  you  cannot  turn  for  prevention  to 
that  erratic,  untamed,  ungauged,  and  utterly  unscientific 
instrument,  the  human  heart.  The  only  perfect  safety  de- 
vices against  rear-end  collisions  and  faulty  elevator  cables 
are  automatic  devices.  To  the  discussion  of  such  automatic 
safeguards  all  sorts  of  minds  and  hearts  have  devoted  them- 
selves. Scientifically  trained  minds  and  prophetic  spirits, 
men  to  whom  the  problem  appeals  only  as  a  problem  and 
men  to  whom  the  ideal  is  a  flaming  and  a  holy  thing,  all 
agree  in  searching  for  the  machine  that  will  clutch  the  slip- 
ping cable  of  peace  and  hold  it  firm. 

It  is  now  eighteen  years  since  Jean  de  Bloch  wrote  a  book 
in  seven  volumes  to  demonstrate  that  war  had  become  im- 
possible. His  was  the  technical  argument.  It  was  not  a 
question  whether  peace  is  better  than  war.  It  was  the  simple 
fact  that  the  business  of  slaughter  had  become  so  complicated 
and  so  perfected  that  war  meant  only  a .  furious  tugging 
back  and  forth  without  definite  advantage.  De  Bloch  laid 
stress  on  trench  warfare  which  rendered  the  defensive  in 
battle  impregnable.  He  foresaw  the  role  of  the  machine 
gun,  of  blockade,  of  wholesale  starvation.  After  eighteen 
years  de  Bloch  is  now  spoken  of  by  students  of  war  as  hav- 
ing come  into  his  own.  The  two  years'  deadlock  in  the 
trenches  of  Europe  has  vindicated  him.  The  only  thing 
that  remains  to  be  explained  is  the  fact,  that  in  spite  of 
two  years'  deadlock,  there  is  still  going  on  in  the  European 
trenches  something  that  has  every  appearance  of  being  war. 

And  there  are  some  things  which  de  Bloch  did  not  fore- 
see. He  anticipated  the  trench,  but  he  did  not  foresee  the 
monster  guns  which  reduce  trenches  to  rubbish.  He  fore- 
saw the  machine  gun,  but  he  did  not  foresee  the  clouds  of 
poison  gas  which  drive  the  artillerist  from  his  machine.     But 


ILUSTRATIONS  21 5 

more  than  that.  Assume  that  de  Bloch  had  been  right 
throughout  and  that  war  on  land  had  indeed  become  impos- 
sible. There  are  other  spheres  for  the  aspiring  soul  of  man. 
When  men  have  lost  the  art  of  fighting  on  land,  they  will 
fight  under  the  sea  and  in  the  air.  When  submarine  and 
Zeppelin  have  found  their  antidote,  men  will  fight  at  a  dis- 
tance of  two  thousand  miles  with  incendiary  vibrations  and 
explosive  air  waves.  De  Bloch  allowed  a  psychological 
error  to  creep  into  his  technical  argument.  He  thought  that 
war  had  become  too  terrible  for  the  spirit  of  man.  It  is 
the  idea  which  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells  has  exploited  in  his  imagina- 
tive forecasts  of  the  future  social  order.  When  you  can 
drop  just  one  atomic  bomb  and  wipe  out  Paris  or  Berlin, 
war  will  have  become  monstrous  and  impossible.  But  de 
Bloch  and  Mr.  Wells  have  underestimated  the  capacities  of 
the  human  soul  for  inflicting  and  enduring  terror.  After 
the  murder  of  women  and  babes  from  the  air,  it  is  no  longer 
easy  to  believe  that  a  mechanical  device  like  the  atomic 
bomb  will  keep  men  from  fighting  forevermore. 

And  just  as  Jean  de  Bloch,  fifteen  years  before  the  Aus- 
trian ultimatum  to  Servia,  had  shown  that  war  is  technically 
bankrupt,  Mr.  Norman  Angell  proved,  only  two  years  be- 
fore the  greatest  of  wars,  that  war  was  an  economic  impos- 
sibility. He  showed  that  war  brought  with  it  no  profit 
to  the  conqueror,  that  it  entailed  a  wastage  of  wealth  which 
drained  winner  and  vanquished  alike,  and  that  it  needed  only 
the  general  realization  of  this  truth  to  convince  men  of  the 
futility  of  war.  I  am  not  of  those  who  think  that  the  pres- 
ent war  has  made  speedy  havoc  of  Mr.  Angell's  theories. 
On  the  contrary  I  think  that  of  all  preventives  for  war  his 
comes  nearest  to  the  heart  of  the  question  by  laying  stress 
on  the  human  factor,  by  postulating  that  people  must  grow 
aware  of  the  folly  of  war  before  they  will  stop  fighting.  To 
that  extent  his  remedy  is  not  mechanical.     His  error  con- 


2l6  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

sists  in  assuming  that  men,  having  attained  that  knowledge, 
will  forever  after  live  up  to  it.  Perhaps  he  did  not  even 
mean  to  stress  his  point  so  far.  The  fact  remains  that  Mr. 
Angell  to-day  has  let  himself  be  classed  with  the  ultra-paci- 
fists. He  has  been  manoeuvred  into  the  position  of  main- 
taining that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  perpetual  and  unfailing 
guarantee  against  war. 

At  first  sight,  the  scheme  outlined  by  William  James  in 
his  little  book,  "A  Moral  Equivalent  for  War,"  seems  to  be 
anything  but  mechanical.  He  looks  for  the  roots  of  war 
in  the  spirit  of  man.  He  recognizes  that  one  of  the  great 
hindrances  to  the  popularity  of  the  pacifist  ideal  is  the 
simple  fact  that  peace  is  drab  and  that  war  is  exciting.  He 
knows  that  there  enters  into  war  the  spirit  of  adventure,  of 
service,  and  of  sacrifice,  and  he  sets  himself  to  find  an  out- 
let for  the  militant  impulses  of  mankind.  William  James 
found  it  in  the  scheme  of  a  civic  army  organized  and  disci- 
plined for  the  difficult  and  dangerous  works  of  peace.  A 
conscription  of  the  young  men  of  the  nation  for  service  in 
the  coal  mines,  in  the  draining  of  swamps,  in  the  building 
of  public  works,  gives  one  a  touch  of  Plato's  republic,  vivified 
by  the  spirit  of  modern  humanitarianism.  "Who  will  do 
the  dirty  work  ?"  has  been  the  stock  argument  flung  against 
the  Socialists.  The  mobilized  young  men  of  the  nation  will 
do  it,  says  William  James,  in  substance,  the  same  young 
men  who  have  always  been  doing  the  world's  dirty  work 
on  the  battlefields ;  provided  you  can  train  the  young  man 
to  see  that  there  is  as  much  glory  in  digging  a  trench  for 
an  aqueduct  as  for  a  machine  gun  emplacement,  that  the 
smell  of  coal  gas  is  as  ennobling  a  thing,  at  least,  as  the 
stink  of  poison  fumes. 

A  difficult  proviso,  of  course,  and  James  did  not  under- 
estimate the  difficulty;  but  that  is  not  the  fatal  point. 
Again  the  error  emerges  of  supposing  that  when  you  have 


ILLUSTRATIONS  21 7 

organized  your  civic  army  you  will  have  infallibly  prevented 
the  organization  of  a  military  army,  that  you  will  have  elimi- 
nated war.  A  substitute  is  something  which  you  put  in 
place  of  something  you  have  discarded.  And  when  you 
offer  a  substitute  for  war  you  at  once  confront  the  ancient 
doubt  whether  war  can  ever  be  eliminated.  William  James's 
civic  army  is  the  ancient  sword  beaten  into  a  ploughshare 
and  the  spear  into  a  pruning  hook.  Translate  James  into 
these  terms  and  he  offers  no  brighter  chances  of  success  than 
the  original  proposal  has  attained  these  twenty-five  hundred 
years.  A  permanent,  unbroken  ploughshare  and  pruning- 
hook  existence  for  the  human  race  ?  No.  But  if  Isaiah  had 
spoken  only  of  putting  aside  the  sv/ord  and  taking  up  the 
ploughshare,  only  of  hanging  up  the  spear  and  taking  down 
the  pruning  hook,  it  would  have  come  nearer  to  human  limi- 
tations. No ;  William  James's  substitution  of  civic  service 
for  war,  like  Percy  MacKaye's  substitution  of  the  commu- 
nity pageant  for  war,  is  after  all  a  business  of  externals,  of 
mechanical  devices.  When  the  blood  instinct  surges  up  in 
man  he  will  not  go  out  into  the  stadium  and  dance  it  off 
with  Mr.  MacKaye.  He  may  more  probably  pick  up  a 
shovel  and  sweat  it  off  with  William  James  ;  but  not  always. 
One  more  of  these  mechanical  devices  against  war  and  I 
have  done.  This  time  it  is  another  variant  of  the  economic 
argument.  It  is  a  fairly  common  position,  but  it  has  been 
best  stated,  perhaps,  by  Professor  Edwin  R.  A.  Seligman 
in  a  paper  contributed  to  a  composite  volume  of  studies  on 
the  great  war.  Professor  Seligman  finds  that  economic  ri- 
valry is  at  the  bottom  of  the  present  war.  He  shows  how 
capital,  piling  up  in  the  old,  rich  nations  and  eager  for  new 
fields  of  exploitation,  has  brought  about  friction  and  con- 
flict. May  we  ever  expect  a  condition  of  world  peace,  asks 
Professor  Seligman  at  the  end  of  his  article.  Well,  perhaps, 
yes.     When  the  wealth  of  the  earth  has  been  equalized,  when 


21 8  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

capital  ceases  to  be  exported,  when  China,  for  instance,  has 
become  as  thoroughly  saturated  with  capital  as  England  is 
to-day,  and  holds  out  no  temptations  to  British  and  German 
investors,  the  reason  for  war  will  have  disappeared  and 
permanent  peace  will  come. 

Just  when  that  will  be,  the  reader  is  left  to  judge  for  him- 
self. Perhaps  two  hundred  years  from  now  China  will  be 
saturated  with  money  to  the  exuding  point  and  we  may  have 
world  peace,  unless  it  should  turn  out  that  the  Congo  and 
Morocco  are  not  quite  saturated  with  capital ;  in  which  case 
we  should  probably  have  to  wait  another  century.  To  tell 
the  truth,  it  is  plain  that  Professor  Seligman  does  not  believe 
in  world  peace.  The  subject  does  not  interest  him  much 
till  the  very  end  of  his  article.  Only  then  and  in  deference 
to  the  ancient  dreams  of  the  race,  he  permits  himself  a  little 
idealistic  speculation.  Once  he  does  take  up  the  subject,  he 
thinks  millennially.  He  speaks  only  of  permanent  peace,  and 
when  it  comes  it  will  come  through  a  mechanical  device  — 
capitalistic  saturation.  That  there  were  wars  in  the  world 
before  capital  began  looking  for  foreign  markets,  that  there 
might  be  things  to  quarrel  about  after  international  exploita- 
tion has  ceased,  does  not  enter  into  consideration. 

"How  about  world  peace?"  says  the  pacifist.  "Ah,  yes, 
world  peace,  beautiful  ideal,  very.  It  will  come  some  day, 
five  hundred  years  from  now,  when  China  is  saturated  with 
money  of  her  own.  Kindly  pass  the  cigars."  But  if  one 
were  to  ask  Professor  Seligman  not  what  he  thinks  of  per- 
manent peace,  but  whether  he  considers  it  inevitable  for 
China  to  be  at  war  with  somebody  in  the  next  fifty  years, 
he  would  ponder  the  question  a  little  more  seriously. 

For  the  difference  between  permanent  peace  or  the  elimi- 
nation of  war,  as  usually  understood,  and  the  prolongation 
of  peace  as  I  understand  it,  is  this  :  world  peace  means 
fighting  as  much  as  ever  till  about  the  year  2345  and  then 


ILLUSTRATIONS  21 9 

heaven  forevermore.  Whereas  the  prolongation  of  peace 
means  that  from  now  till  the  year  2345  and  after  there  shall 
be  six  wars  or  a  dozen  wars  only  instead  of  the  fifty  wars 
indicated  by  our  present  ratio.  I  am  ready  to  admit  that 
war  is  as  inevitable  as  death  and  taxes.  Men  will  always 
pay  taxes.  The  question  is  how  high  are  taxes  to  be.  Men 
will  always  die.  The  question  is  how  soon.  Men  will 
always  fight.     The  question  is  how  often. 

When  the  anti-militarist  speaks  of  a  United  States  of 
Europe  that  is  to  arise  after  the  war,  he  is  accused  of  in- 
dulging in  millennial  dreams,  and  the  only  rejoinder  he  can 
think  of  is  to  demonstrate  the  feasibility  of  the  millennium. 
It  seems  to  occur  to  neither  party  that  the  establishment  of 
the  United  States  of  Europe  does  not  guarantee  the  mil- 
lennium. The  United  States  of  America  had  a  civil  war 
which  lasted  four  years  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the 
States  of  the  Union  were  not  the  European  states  of  to-day. 
The  Colonies  had  never  engaged  in  war  with  each  other. 
They  had  behind  them  almost  none  of  the  complex  of  forces 
and  traditions  that  makes  for  international  war.  Eighty- 
five  years  after  they  had  become  a  nation,  they  went  to  war 
with  each  other.  And  the  United  Counties  of  England  have 
known  civil  war,  and  the  United  Provinces  of  France  and 
the  United  Cantons  of  Switzerland.  If  it  is  the  absolute 
prevention  of  war  you  are  striving  for,  the  Union  of  Europe 
is  no  guarantee. 

Why  this  knockdown  argument  against  the  United  States 
of  Europe  is  never  used  by  the  anti-pacifist  I  am  unable 
to  understand.  Unless  it  be  that  the  anti-pacifist  instinc- 
tively recognizes  that  this  argument  would  in  the  long  run 
be  fatal  to  himself.  It  would  be  a  knockdown  blow  that 
would  ultimately  help  to  clarify  his  opponent's  ideas.  For 
if  your  believer  in  things  as  they  have  been  were  to  say : 
"Well,  what  of  your  United  States  of  Europe?     Has  there 


220  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

been  no  war  within  the  United  States  of  America?"  the 
average  pacifist  would  be  compelled  to  sift  his  own  thoughts 
and  so  discover  what  he  really  means.  "Yes,  one  civil  war 
in  one  hundred  and  forty  years,"  he  would  reply,  "and  how 
many  wars  have  there  been  in  Europe  during  that  time?" 
"Oh,  then,  you  don't  mean  the  abolition  of  war,  you  mean 
reducing  the  frequency  of  war?"  "Yes:  isn't  that  worth 
while  ?"  "Oh,  in  that  case,"  and  the  militarist  immediately 
feels  the  disadvantage  of  combating  a  fairly  reasonable  citi- 
zen instead  of  a  fanatic. 

It  is  the  same  when  we  speak  of  the  establishment  of  a 
system  of  law  and  order  among  the  nations  such  as  obtains 
within  each  separate  nation  and  each  community.  For  them 
again  your  anti-pacifist  is  in  a  position  to  say,  "Law  as 
between  nations  ?  Does  law  function  so  perfectly  within  the 
nations  ?  Is  there  no  such  thing  as  lynch  law  in  the  country 
you  offer  as  a  model  for  the  United  States  of  Europe  ?  Is 
there  no  such  thing  as  the  duello  in  Europe  ?  Is  there  no 
such  thing  as  the  unwritten  law  in  America  and  the  crime 
passionel  in  France,  when  public  opinion  virtually  demands 
that  in  certain  cases  a  man  shall  not  go  to  court  but  shall 
shoot  to  kill?"  To  which  the  moderate  pacifist:  "True. 
It  is  nevertheless  a  fact  that  men  do  go  to  court  ever  so 
much  more  often  than  they  used  to  and  they  use  the  dirk 
and  pistol  ever  so  much  less.  People  do  not  shoot  and  stab 
on  pretty  nearly  every  occasion  as  they  used  to  do."  And 
there,  of  course,  is  the  nub  of  the  whole  problem. 

How  was  it  with  the  beginnings  of  the  movement  away 
from  the  curse  of  private  warfare  in  the  Dark  Ages  of  Eu- 
rope ?  The  church  took  the  matter  in  hand.  But  though 
the  church  subscribed  to  the  ideal  of  everlasting  and  un- 
broken peace,  the  practical  common  sense  of  the  ecclesias- 
tics of  the  tenth  century  suggested  a  moderate  programme. 
The  church  councils  did  not  impose  peace  everywhere  and 


ILLUSTRATIONS  22 1 

every  day  in  the  week  upon  the  militant  barons.  The  peace 
of  the  church  specified  a  number  of  classes  against  whom 
violence  must  not  be'practised  at  any  time  —  against  clerics, 
women,  pilgrims,  peasants,  against  ecclesiastical  buildings, 
cattle,  and  agricultural  implements.  The  "truce  of  God," 
which  grew  out  of  the  peace  of  the  church,  forbade  private 
warfare  on  certain  days  and  in  certain  seasons.  It  began 
with  a  prohibition  against  fighting  of  all  kinds  from  noon 
on  Saturday  to  prime  on  Monday.  The  barons  may  have 
chafed  at  the  loss  of  a  good  day  and  a  half  but  to  some 
extent  they  obeyed.  Within  a  short  time  the  truce  of  God 
had  been  stretched  from  Wednesday  evening  to  Monday 
morning  and  during  all  of  Lent,  Advent,  the  feasts  of  the 
blessed  Virgin,  the  twelve  apostles,  and  a  few  other  saints. 
One  can  almost  imagine  the  shrewd  churchmen  cautiously 
feeling  the  pulse  of  their  public  and  adding  a  saint  or  two 
as  the  opportunity  offered.  At  the  height  of  its  develop- 
ment the  truce  of  God  left  less  than  one-quarter  of  the  year 
for  the  barons  to  fight  in  and  even  within  that  restricted 
space  the  provisions  of  the  peace  of  the  church  held  good 
with  regard  to  those  classes  and  objects  which  were  perpet- 
ually immune  against  private  assault. 

I  am  bound  to  confess  that  the  authority  from  whom  I 
have  drawn  my  information  goes  on  to  say  that  the  truce 
of  God  produced  on  the  whole  "surprisingly  mediocre 
results."  It  was  apparently  more  than  human  nature  could 
stand  that  a  baron  who  had  been  insulted  in  his  honor  and 
his  interests  on  Thursday  morning  should  wait  till  noon  of 
the  following  Monday  before  exacting  satisfaction.  But 
some  results  there  were.  The  beginning  had  been  made,  and 
when  monarchy  arose  in  the  later  centuries  to  assert  its 
authority  against  the  feudalists  it  borrowed  the  provisions 
of  the  truce  of  God  and  peace  of  the  church  and  embodied 
them  into  the  king's  peace.     From  that  time,  I  imagine,  the 


222  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

progress  of  law  and  order  simply  meant  a  steady  reduction 
in  the  number  of  private  quarrels ;  not  because  differences 
of  opinion  arose  more  frequently  on  a  Sunday  or  within  the 
bounds  of  a  church  building,  or  because  of  an  increase  in  the 
number  of  classes  immune  against  sudden  assault,  but  pri- 
marily because  of  a  reduction  in  the  number  of  causes  for 
which  people  felt  it  incumbent  to  fight.  How  this  happened 
it  is  not  difficult  to  surmise.  If  a  baron  did  not  like  the  color 
of  his  neighbor's  mantle  on  Thursday  morning  and  was 
prevented  from  fighting  him  on  that  cause  till  Monday  noon, 
there  was  a  chance  that  by  Monday  noon  the  offense  would 
not  seem  so  serious.  In  that  way  does  habit  fix  its  clutches 
on  man.  And  in  that  way,  I  imagine,  have  we  progressed 
from  the  time  when  men  fought  over  the  color  of  a  coat  or 
the  theft  of  a  sheep  or  because  their  sword  hilts  clashed  in 
a  crowd,  to  the  present  when  men  fight  out  private  quarrels 
over  the  very  few  causes  I  have  mentioned  above. 

But  this  much  should  be  noted  before  we  pass  on.  In 
those  bad  times  when  men  fought  over  the  color  of  a  coat  or 
the  possession  of  a  herd  of  cattle,  it  was  not  the  physical  pain 
involved  in  looking  at  a  scarlet  coat  with  yellow  trimmings 
that  stirred  the  fighting  blood,  it  was  often  not  the  money 
value  of  the  disputed  cattle.  The  true  cause  was  the  injury 
to  a  man's  honor  inflicted  by  the  unaesthetic  coat  or  the 
ravished  cattle.  That  honor  was  at  the  bottom  of  private 
warfare  is  shown  by  the  simple  fact  that  there  was  no  pri- 
vate warfare  against  merchants,  peasants,  pilgrims,  and 
clerics,  who  had  no  honor  to  offend. 

The  progress  from  private  feud  to  the  law  of  the  king 
or  commonwealth  may  thus  be  described  as  a  steady  degen- 
eration in  the  sensitiveness  of  private  honor  with  which,  in 
the  higher  circles  of  European  society,  the  sense  of  honor 
is  still  sometimes  confused.  The  number  of  causes  upon 
which  a  man  will  fight  varies  directly  with  his  social  status, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  223 

though  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  life-and-death  combat  of 
the  mediaeval  barons  has  atrophied  to  a  few  ceremonial 
flourishes  of  the  rapier  or  the  discharge  of  a  pistol  into  the 
air.  It  is  obvious  that  about  the  honor  which  is  appeased 
by  a  sword  prick  in  the  lower  joint  of  the  thumb  there  is 
more  sensitiveness  than  sense. 

There  is  no  monarch  or  parliament  in  the  civilized  world 
to-day  that  will  refuse  to  go  into  a  treaty  for  the  arbitration 
of  differences  with  a  foreign  power  provided  the  issue  does 
not  touch  the  honor  or  the  vital  interests  of  a  nation.  The 
two,  of  course,  are  in  the  last  analysis  the  same  thing.  A 
nation's  honor  is  of  vital  interest  to  the  nation,  and  on  the 
other  hand  no  nation  can  surrender  a  vital  interest  without 
injury  to  its  honor.  Shall  we  ask  nations  and  governments 
to  sacrifice  national  honor  or  vital  interests  ?  No.  But  we 
may  draw  the  attention  of  rulers  and  parliaments  to  the 
theory  of  emotions  popularized  by  William  James  when  he 
asserts  that  men  are  afraid  because  they  run  away  and  men 
hate  because  they  clench  their  fists  and  scowl.  If  we  were 
to  give  up  the  habit  of  saying  that  a  nation  will  fight  for 
a  cause  involving  its  honor,  and  said  instead  that  when  a 
nation  fights  its  honor  is  presumably  involved,  we  should  get 
nearer  to  a  solution  of  the  problem.  If  we  could  only  get 
a  nation  under  a  particular  set  of  circumstances  not  to  fight, 
it  is  likely  that  it  will  ultimately  find  that  its  honor  has  not 
been  injured ;  not  always,  but  as  a  rule.  In  the  case  of  the 
mediaeval  baron,  as  the  habit  declined  of  fighting  over  the 
offensive  color  of  a  coat  or  the  tilt  of  a  hat,  the  sense  of 
honor  ceased  to  be  mutilated  by  coats  and  hats.  What  the 
nations  have  inherited  from  an  evil  past  is  still  that  habit 
of  finding  a  cause  for  war,  and  therefore  an  injury  to  one's 
honor,  in  the  tilt  of  another  nation's  hat.  Obviously  the  way 
to  the  prolongation  of  peace  is  through  the  elimination  of 
many  of  the  irritants  that  have  hitherto  stirred   a  nation's 


224  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

honor.  This  may  seem  a  craven  and  ignoble  policy.  But 
the  mediaeval  baron  must  have  felt  it  a  craven  thing  not  to 
draw  his  sword  when  the  color  of  his  neighbor's  coat  of  mail 
or  the  head  feathers  on  his  neighbor's  charger  offended  him. 

Civilized  communities  have  already  outgrown  a  mass  of 
smiles,  sneers,  jostlings,  hints,  words,  and  phrases  for  which 
the  Dark  Ages  went  to  war,  but  too  many  of  those  acts, 
signs,  and  ceremonials  in  which  the  national  honor  is  sup- 
posed to  be  imbedded  unfortunately  survive.  Civilized 
nations  still  recognize  a  large  number  of  actions  which,  if 
performed  by  another  nation,  automatically  lead  to  war. 
There  is  the  national  flag,  insult  to  which  means  either 
reparation  or  war.  There  are  the  lives  of  nationals  in  a 
foreign  country.  There  is  the  tradition  which  invests  every 
army  lieutenant  and  naval  ensign  on  foreign  soil  with  greater 
powers  of  peace  and  war  than  the  President  of  the  United 
States  exercises.  For  you  can  criticise  and  oppose  a  Presi- 
dent's policy  even  if  it  is  foreign  policy,  but  automatically 
the  whole  nation  rallies  behind  the  young  subaltern  who  gets 
into  trouble  with  the  mob  in  a  foreign  city.  There  is  the 
tradition  which  prescribes  that  when  a  nation  has  been  com- 
mitted to  an  act  of  folly  or  crime  by  its  representative,  it 
may  explain  or  mitigate  or  countercharge  or  offer  repara- 
tion but  it  cannot  in  honor  disavow.  The  peace  of  the  world 
is  founded  on  the  proud  principle  that  the  citizen  of  no  par- 
ticular consequence  at  home  and  the  army  or  naval  officer 
of  no  particular  authority  at  home,  become  the  depositaries 
of  the  nation's  honor,  the  nation's  fortunes,  and  the  nation's 
policy  when  they  set  foot  on  foreign  soil. 

Into  this  mass  of  rights,  privileges,  proprieties,  and  tradi- 
tions the  awakened  conscience  of  humanity  has  thrust  the 
sterilized  needle  of  common  sense,  and  we  are  to-day  witness- 
ing a  process  which  isolates  the  fundamental  principles  of 
true  national  honor  and  really  vital  interests  from  the  dead 


ILLUSTRATIONS  225 

sediment  of  etiquette  which  has  hitherto  been  supposed  to 
embody  the  national  honor.  The  way  to  surer  and  larger 
peace  is  through  the  clearing  away  of  this  clutter  of  things 
"not  arbitrable."  .  .  . 

I  have  tried  to  formulate  something  of  a  case  for  the  man 
who  is  opposed  to  the  Bernhardi  ideal  of  war  and  yet  does  not 
wish  to  be  driven  into  defending  the  kingdom  of  heaven  on 
earth.  It  is  the  weakness  of  the  ultra-pacifist  from  the  his- 
toric point  of  view,  that  he  would  write  finis  to  the  book  of 
international  evolution.  We  have  not  done  that  even  to 
the  book  of  national  evolution.  The  absolute  rule  of  law 
does  not  obtain  in  any  community.  The  pacifist  writes  at 
the  end  of  the  novel,  "And  they  lived  happy  ever  after- 
ward." Opposed  to  him  is  the  man  who  regards  himself  as 
an  uncompromising  realist  and  says,  "Oh,  no,  the  man  and 
the  woman  will  go  on  quarrelling  to  the  end  of  time."  Be- 
tween the  two  there  is  room  for  the  plain  observer  of  life 
who  merely  predicts  for  his  hero  and  heroine  a  steady  prog- 
ress through  misunderstanding  and  strife  to  a  tolerable 
condition  of  sympathy  and  forbearance. 

GROUP  THREE 
(To  Accompany  Chapter  III) 

A  MODERN   SYMPOSIUM1 

By  G.  Lowes  Dickinson 

(The  Speech  of  Ellis) 

[As  Wilson]  sat  down  a  note  was  passed  along  to  me  from 
Ellis,  asking  permission  to  speak  next.  I  assented  willingly ; 
for  Ellis,  though  some  of  us  thought  him  frivolous,  was,  at 

1   Pp.  90-108.     Reprinted  by  special  permission  of  the  author  and  of 
the  publishers,  Doubleday,  Page  &  Co. 
Q 


226  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

any  rate,  never  dull.  His  sunburnt  complexion,  his  fair 
curly  hair,  and  the  light  in  his  blue  eyes  made  a  pleasant 
impression,  as  he  rose  and  looked  down  upon  us  from  his  six 
feet. 

"This,"  he  began,  "is  really  an  extraordinary  discovery 
Wilson  has  made,  that  fathers  have  children,  and  children 
fathers !  One  wonders  how  the  world  has  got  on  all  these 
centuries  in  ignorance  of  it.  It  seems  so  obvious,  once  it 
has  been  stated.  But  that,  of  course,  is  the  nature  of  great 
truths  ;  as  soon  as  they  are  announced  they  seem  to  have  been 
always  familiar.  It  is  possible,  for  that  very  reason,  that 
many  people  may  underestimate  the  importance  of  Wilson's 
pronouncement,  forgetting  that  it  is  the  privilege  of  genius 
to  formulate  for  the  first  time  what  every  one  has  been 
dimly  feeling.  We  ought  not  to  be  ungrateful ;  but  per- 
haps it  is  our  duty  to  be  cautious.  For  great  ideas  natu- 
rally suggest  practical  applications,  and  it  is  here  that  I 
foresee  difficulties.  What  Wilson's  proposition  in  fact 
amounts  to,  if  I  understand  him  rightly,  is  that  we  ought  to 
open  as  wide  as  possible  the  gates  of  life,  and  make  those  who 
enter  as  comfortable  as  we  can.  Now,  I  think  we  ought  to 
be  very  careful  about  doing  anything  of  the  kind.  We  know, 
of  course,  very  little  about  the  conditions  of  the  unborn. 
But  I  think  it  highly  probable  that,  like  labour,  as  described 
by  the  political  economists,  they  form  throughout  the 
universe  a  single  mobile  body,  with  a  tendency  to  gravitate 
wherever  the  access  is  freest  and  the  conditions  most  fa- 
vourable. And  I  should  be  very  much  afraid  of  attracting 
what  we  may  call,  perhaps,  the  unemployed  of  the  universe 
in  undue  proportions  to  this  planet,  by  offering  them  ar- 
tificially better  terms  than  are  to  be  obtained  elsewhere. 
For  that,  as  you  know,  would  defeat  our  own  object.  We 
should  merely  cause  an  exodus,  as  it  were,  from  the  outlying 
and  rural  districts,  Mars,  or   the   moon,  or   whatever   the 


ILLUSTRATIONS  227 

place  may  be;  and  the  amount  of  distress  and  difficulty  on 
the  earth  would  be  greater  than  ever.  At  any  rate,  I  should 
insist,  and  I  daresay  Wilson  agrees  with  me  there,  on  some 
adequate  test.  And  I  would  not  advertise  too  widely  what 
we  are  doing.  After  all,  other  planets  must  be  responsible 
for  their  own  unborn ;  and  I  don't  see  why  we  should  be- 
come a  kind  of  dumping-ground  of  the  universe  for  every 
one  who  may  imagine  he  can  better  himself  by  migrating 
to  the  earth.  For  that  reason,  among  others,  I  would  not 
open  the  gate  too  wide.  And,  perhaps,  in  view  of  this  con- 
sideration, we  might  still  permit  some  people  not  to  marry. 
At  any  rate,  I  wouldn't  go  further,  I  think,  than  a  fine  for 
recalcitrant  bachelors.  Wilson,  I  daresay,  would  prefer  im- 
prisonment for  a  second  offence,  and  in  case  of  contumacy, 
even  capital  punishment.  On  such  a  point  I  am  not,  I 
confess,  an  altogether  impartial  judge,  as  I  should  certainly 
incur  the  greater  penalty.  Still,  as  I  have  said,  in  the  gen- 
eral interests  of  society,  and  in  view  of  the  conditions  of  the 
universal  market,  I  would  urge  caution  and  deliberation. 
And  that  is  all  I  have  to  say  at  present  on  this  very  inter- 
esting subject. 

"The  other  point  that  interested  me  in  Wilson's  remarks 
was  not,  indeed,  so  novel  as  the  discovery  about  fathers 
having  children,  but  it  was,  in  its  way,  equally  important. 
I  mean,  the  announcement  made  with  authority  that  the 
human  race  really  does,  as  has  been  so  often  conjectured, 
progress.  We  may  take  it  now,  I  suppose,  that  that  is 
established,  or  Wilson  would  not  have  proclaimed  it.  And 
we  are,  therefore,  in  a  position  roughly  to  determine  in  what 
progress  consists.  This  is  a  task  which,  I  believe,  I  am  more 
competent  to  attempt  perhaps  even  than  Wilson  himself, 
because  I  have  had  unusual  opportunities  of  travel,  and  have 
endeavoured  to  utilize  them  to  clear  my  mind  of  prejudices. 
I  flatter  myself  that  I  can  regard  with  perfect  impartiality 


228  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

the  ideals  of  different  countries,  and  in  particular  those  of 
the  new  world  which,  I  presume,  are  to  dominate  the  future. 
In  attempting  to  estimate  what  progress  means,  one  could 
not  do  better,  I  suppose,  than  describe  the  civilization  of 
the  United  States.  For  in  describing  that,  one  will  be 
describing  the  whole  civilization  of  the  future,  seeing  that 
what  America  is  our  colonies  are,  or  will  become,  and  what 
our  colonies  are  we,  too,  may  hope  to  attain,  if  we  make  the 
proper  sacrifices  to  preserve  the  unity  of  the  empire.  Let 
us  see,  then,  what,  from  an  objective  point  of  view,  really 
is  the  future  of  this  progressing  world  of  ours. 

"Perhaps,  however,  before  proceeding  to  analyse  the  spir- 
itual ideals  of  the  American  people,  I  had  better  give  some 
account  of  their  country.  For  environment,  as  we  all 
know  now,  has  an  incalculable  effect  upon  character. 
Consider,  then,  the  American  continent !  How  simple  it  is  ! 
How  broad  !  How  large !  How  grand  in  design  !  A  strip 
of  coast,  a  range  of  mountains,  a  plain,  a  second  range,  a 
second  strip  of  coast !  That  is  all !  Contrast  the  complexity 
of  Europe,  its  lack  of  symmetry,  its  variety,  irregularity, 
disorder,  and  caprice  !  The  geography  of  the  two  continents 
already  foreshadows  the  differences  in  their  civilizations. 
On  the  one  hand  simplicity  and  size;  on  the  other  a  hole- 
and-corner  variety :  there  immense  rivers,  endless  forests, 
interminable  plains,  indefinite  repetition  of  a  few  broad  ideas  ; 
here  distracting  transitions,  novelties,  surprises,  shocks, 
distinctions  in  a  word,  already  suggesting  Distinction. 
Even  in  its  physical  features  America  is  the  land  of  quantity, 
while  Europe  is  that  of  quality.  And  as  with  the  land,  so 
with  its  products.  How  large  are  the  American  fruits ! 
How  tall  the  trees !  How  immense  the  oysters !  What 
has  Europe  by  comparison  ?  Mere  flavor  and  form,  mere 
beauty,  delicacy,  and  grace !  America,  one  would  say,  is 
the  latest  work  of  the  great  artist  —  we  are  told,  indeed,  by 


ILLUSTRATIONS  229 

geologists,  that  it  is  the  youngest  of  the  continents  —  con- 
ceived at  an  age  when  he  had  begun  to  repeat  himself, 
broad,  summary,  impressionist,  audacious  in  empty  space; 
whereas  Europe  would  seem  to  represent  his  pre-Raphaelite 
period,  in  its  wealth  of  detail,  its  variety  of  figure,  costume, 
architecture,  landscape,  its  crudely  contrasted  colours  and 
minute  precision  of  individual  form. 

"And  as  with  the  countries,  so  with  their  civilizations. 
Europe  is  the  home  of  class,  America  of  democracy.  By 
democracy  I  do  not  mean  a  mere  form  of  government — in 
that  respect,  of  course,  America  is  less  democratic  than 
England ;  I  mean  the  mental  attitude  that  implies  and  en- 
genders Indistinction.  Indistinction,  I  say,  rather  than 
equality,  for  the  word  equality  is  misleading,  and  might 
seem  to  imply,  for  example,  a  social  and  economic  parity 
of  conditions,  which  no  more  exists  in  America  than  it  does 
in  Europe.  Politically,  as  well  as  socially,  America  is  a 
plutocracy;  her  democracy  is  spiritual  and  intellectual; 
and  its  essence  is,  the  denial  of  all  superiorities  save  that  of 
wealth.  Such  superiorities,  in  fact,  hardly  exist  across  the 
Atlantic.  All  men  there  are  intelligent,  all  efficient,  all  en- 
ergetic ;  and  as  these  are  the  only  qualities  they  possess,  so 
they  are  the  only  ones  they  feel  called  upon  to  admire. 
How  different  is  the  case  with  Europe !  How  innumerable 
and  how  confusing  the  gradations !  For  diversities  of 
language  and  race,  indeed,  we  may  not  be  altogether  re- 
sponsible; but  we  have  superadded  to  these,  distinctions  of 
manner,  of  feeling,  of  perception,  of  intellectual  grasp  and 
spiritual  insight,  unknown  to  the  simpler  and  vaster  con- 
sciousness of  the  West.  In  addition,  in  short,  to  the  ob- 
vious and  fundamentally  natural  standard  of  wealth,  we 
have  invented  others  impalpable  and  artificial  in  their  char- 
acter; and  however  rapidly  these  may  be  destined  to  disap- 
pear as  the  race  progresses,  and  the  influence  of  the  West 


230  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

begins  to  dominate  the  East,  they  do,  nevertheless,  still  per- 
sist, and  give  to  our  effete  civilization  the  character  of 
Aristocracy,  that  is  of  Caste.  In  all  this  we  see,  as  I  have 
suggested,  the  influence  of  environment.  The  old-world 
stock,  transplanted  across  the  ocean,  imitates  the  char- 
acteristics of  its  new  home.  Sloughing  off  artificial  dis- 
tinctions, it  manifests  itself  in  bold  simplicity,  broad  as  the 
plains,  turbulent  as  the  rivers,  formless  as  the  mountains, 
crude  as  the  fruits  of  its  adopted  country. 

"  Yet  while  thus  forming  themselves  into  the  image  of  the 
new  world,  the  Americans  have  not  disdained  to  make  use 
of  such  acquisitions  of  the  Past  as  might  be  useful  to  them 
in  the  task  that  lay  before  them.  They  have  rejected  our 
ideals  and  our  standards ;  but  they  have  borrowed  our 
capital  and  our  inventions.  They  have  thus  been  able  — 
a  thing  unknown  before  in  the  history  of  the  world  —  to  start 
the  battle  against  Nature  with  weapons  ready  forged.  On 
the  material  results  they  have  thus  been  able  to  achieve  it 
is  the  less  necessary  for  me  to  dilate,  that  they  keep  us  so 
fully  informed  of  them  themselves.  But  it  may  be  inter- 
esting to  note  an  important  consequence  in  their  spiritual 
life,  which  has  commonly  escaped  the  notice  of  observers. 
Thanks  to  Europe,  America  has  never  been  powerless  in  the 
face  of  Nature;  therefore  has  never  felt  Fear;  therefore 
never  known  Reverence ;  and  therefore  never  experienced 
Religion.  It  may  seem  paradoxical  to  make  such  an  asser- 
tion about  the  descendants  of  the  Puritan  Fathers;  nor  do 
I  forget  the  notorious  fact  that  America  is  the  home  of  the 
sects,  from  the  followers  of  Joseph  Smith  to  those  of  Mrs. 
Eddy.  But  these  are  the  phenomena  that  illustrate  my 
point.  A  nation  which  knew  what  religion  was,  in  the 
European  sense ;  whose  roots  were  struck  in  the  soil  of 
spiritual  conflict,  of  temptations  and  visions  in  haunted 
forests  or  desert  sands  by  the  Nile,  of  midnight  risings, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  23 1 

scourgings  of  the  flesh,  dirges  in  vast  cathedrals,  and  the 
miracle  of  the  Host  solemnly  veiled  in  a  glory  of  painted 
light  —  such  a  nation  would  never  have  accepted  Christian 
Science  as  a  religion.  No !  Religion  in  America  is  a  para- 
site without  roots.  The  questions  that  have  occupied  Eu- 
rope from  the  dawn  of  her  history,  for  which  she  has  fought 
more  fiercely  than  for  empire  or  liberty,  for  which  she  has 
fasted  in  deserts,  agonized  in  cells,  suffered  on  the  cross,  and 
at  the  stake,  for  which  she  has  sacrificed  wealth,  health, 
ease,  intelligence,  life,  these  questions  of  the  meaning  of  the 
world,  the  origin  and  destiny  of  the  soul,  the  life  after  death, 
the  existence  of  God,  and  his  relation  to  the  universe,  for 
the  American  people  simply  do  not  exist.  They  are  as  in- 
accessible, as  impossible  to  them,  as  the  Sphere  to  the  dwellers 
in  Flatland.  That  whole  dimension  is  unknown  to  them. 
Their  healthy  and  robust  intelligence  confines  itself  to  the 
things  of  this  world.  Their  religion,  if  they  have  one,  is 
what  I  believe  they  call  '  healthy-mindedness.'  It  consists 
in  ignoring  everything  that  might  suggest  a  doubt  as  to  the 
worth  of  existence,  and  so  conceivably  paralyse  activity. 
'Let  us  eat  and  drink,'  they  say,  with  a  hearty  and  robust 
good  faith  ;  omitting  as  irrelevant  and  morbid  the  discour- 
aging appendix, 'for  to-morrow  we  die.'  Indeed!  What  has 
death  to  do  with  buildings  twenty-four  stories  high,  with  the 
fastest  trains,  the  noisiest  cities,  the  busiest  crowds  in  the 
world,  and  generally  the  largest,  the  finest,  the  most  accel- 
erated of  everything  that  exists  ?  America  has  sloughed  off 
religion  ;  and  as,  in  the  history  of  Europe,  religion  has  under- 
lain every  other  activity,  she  has  sloughed  off,  along  with  it, 
the  whole  European  system  of  spiritual  life.  Literature, 
for  instance,  and  Art,  do  not  exist  across  the  Atlantic.  I 
am  aware,  of  course,  that  Americans  write  books  and  paint 
pictures.  But  their  books  are  not  Literature,  nor  their 
pictures  Art,  except  in  so  far  as  they  represent  a  faint  adum- 


232  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

bration  of  the  European  tradition.  The  true  spirit  of 
America  has  no  use  for  such  activities.  And  even  if,  as  must 
occasionally  happen  in  a  population  of  eighty  millions,  there 
is  born  among  them  a  man  of  artistic  instincts,  he  is  im- 
mediately and  inevitably  repelled  to  Europe,  whence  he  de- 
rives his  training  and  his  inspiration,  and  where  alone  he 
can  live,  observe  and  create.  That  this  must  be  so  from  the 
nature  of  the  case  is  obvious  when  we  reflect  that  the  spirit 
of  Art  is  disinterested  contemplation,  while  that  of  America 
is  cupidous  acquisition.  Americans,  I  am  aware,  believe 
that  they  will  produce  Literature  and  Art,  as  they  produce 
coal  and  steel  and  oil,  by  the  judicious  application  of  intel- 
ligence and  capital ;  but  here  they  do  themselves  injustice. 
The  qualities  that  are  making  them  masters  of  the  world, 
unfit  them  for  slighter  and  less  serious  pursuits.  The  Future  is 
for  them,  the  kingdom  of  elevators,  of  telephones,  of  motor- 
cars, of  flying-machines.  Let  them  not  idly  hark  back, 
misled  by  effete  traditions,  to  the  old  European  dream  of 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  ' Excudent  alii'  let  them  say,  'for 
Europe,  Letters  and  Art;  tu  regere  argento  populos,  Mor- 
gane,  memento,  let  America  rule  the  world  by  Syndicates 
and  Trusts!'  For  such  is  her  true  destiny;  and  that  she 
conceives  it  to  be  such,  is  evidenced  by  the  determination 
with  which  she  has  suppressed  all  irrelevant  activities. 
Every  kind  of  disinterested  intellectual  operation  she  has 
severely  repudiated.  In  Europe  we  take  delight  in  the  op- 
erations of  the  mind  as  such,  we  let  it  play  about  a  subject, 
merely  for  the  fun  of  the  thing ;  we  approve  knowledge  for 
its  own  sake;  we  appreciate  irony  and  wit.  But  all  this  is 
unknown  in  America.  The  most  intelligent  people  in  the 
world,  they  severely  limit  their  intelligence  to  the  adaptation 
of  means  to  ends.  About  the  ends  themselves  they  never 
permit  themselves  to  speculate ;  and  for  this  reason,  though 
they  calculate,  they  never  think,  though  they  invent,  they 


ILLUSTRATIONS  233 

never  discover,  and  though  they  talk,  they  never  converse. 
For  thought  implies  speculation;  reflection,  discovery; 
conversation,  leisure;  and  all  alike  imply  a  disinterestedness 
which  has  no  place  in  the  American  system.  For  the  same 
reason  they  do  not  play ;  they  have  converted  games  into 
battles ;  and  battles  in  which  every  weapon  is  legitimate  so 
long  as  it  is  victorious.  An  American  foot-ball  match  ex- 
hibits in  a  type  the  American  spirit,  short,  sharp,  scientific, 
intense,  no  loitering  by  the  road,  no  enjoyment  of  the  process, 
no  favour,  no  quarter,  but  a  fight  to  the  death  with  victory 
as  the  end,  and  anything  and  everything  as  the  means. 

"A  nation  so  severely  practical  could  hardly  be  expected 
to  attach  the  same  importance  to  the  emotions  as  has  been 
attributed  to  them  by  Europeans.  Feeling,  like  Intellect, 
is  not  regarded,  in  the  West,  as  an  end  in  itself.  And  it  is 
not  uninteresting  to  note  that  the  Americans  are  the  only 
great  nation  that  have  not  produced  a  single  lyric  of  love 
worth  recording.  Physically,  as  well  as  spiritually,  they  are 
a  people  of  cold  temperament.  Their  women,  so  much 
and,  I  do  not  doubt,  so  legitimately  admired,  are  as  hard  as 
they  are  brilliant ;  their  glitter  is  the  glitter  of  ice.  Thus 
happily  constituted,  Americans  are  able  to  avoid  the  im- 
mense waste  of  time  and  energy  involved  in  the  formation 
and  maintenance  of  subtle  personal  relations.  They  marry, 
of  course,  they  produce  children,  they  propagate  the  race; 
but  I  would  venture  to  say,  they  do  not  love,  as  Europeans 
have  loved ;  they  do  not  exploit  the  emotion,  analyse  and 
enjoy  it,  still  less  express  it  in  manners,  in  gesture,  in  epi- 
gram, in  verse.  And  hence  the  kind  of  shudder  produced  in 
a  cultivated  European  by  the  treatment  of  emotion  in  Amer- 
ican fiction.  The  authors  are  trying  to  express  something 
they  have  never  experienced,  and  to  graft  the  European 
tradition  on  to  a  civilization  which  has  none  of  the  elements 
necessary  to  nourish  and  support  it. 


234  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

"From  this  brief  analysis  of  the  attitude  of  Americans 
towards  life,  the  point  with  which  I  started  will,  I  hope,  have 
become  clear,  that  it  is  idle  to  apply  to  them  any  of  the 
tests  which  we  apply  to  a  European  civilization.  For  they 
have  rejected,  whether  they  know  it  or  not,  our  whole 
scheme  of  values.  What,  then,  is  their  own  ?  What  do 
they  recognize  as  an  end  ?  This  is  an  interesting  point  on 
which  I  have  reflected  much  in  the  course  of  my  travels. 
Sometimes  I  have  thought  it  was  wealth,  sometimes  power, 
sometimes  activity.  But  a  poem,  or  at  least  a  production 
in  metre,  which  I  came  across  in  the  States,  gave  me  a  new 
idea  upon  the  subject.  On  such  a  point  I  speak  with  great 
diffidence;  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  my  author  was 
right;  that  the  real  end  which  Americans  set  before  them- 
selves is  Acceleration.  To  be  always  moving,  and  always 
moving  faster,  that  they  think  is  the  beatific  life;  and 
with  their  happy  detachment  from  philosophy  and  specula- 
tion, they  are  not  troubled  by  the  question,  Whither  ? 
If  they  are  asked  by  Europeans,  as  they  sometimes  are,  what 
is  the  point  of  going  so  fast  ?  their  only  feeling  is  one  of  gen- 
uine astonishment.  Why,  they  reply,  you  go  fast !  And 
what  more  can  be  said  ?  Hence,  their  contempt  for  the  leisure 
so  much  valued  by  Europeans.  Leisure  they  feel  to  be  a 
kind  of  standing  still,  the  unpardonable  sin.  Hence,  also, 
their  aversion  to  play,  to  conversation,  to  everything  that  is 
not  work.  I  once  asked  an  American  who  had  been  describ- 
ing to  me  the  scheme  of  his  laborious  life,  where  it  was  that 
the  fun  came  in  ?  He  replied,  without  hesitation  and  without 
regret,  that  it  came  in  nowhere.  How  should  it  ?  It  could 
only  act  as  a  brake ;  and  a  brake  upon  Acceleration  is  the 
last  thing  tolerable  to  the  American  genius. 

"The  American  genius,  I  say:  but  after  all,  and  this  is 
the  real  point  of  my  remarks,  what  America  is  Europe  is 
becoming.     We,  who  sit  here,  with  the  exception,  of  course, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  235 

of  Wilson,  represent  the  Past,  not  the  Future.  Politicians, 
professors,  lawyers,  doctors,  no  matter  what  our  calling,  our 
judgments  are  determined  by  the  old  scale  of  values.  In- 
tellect, Beauty,  Emotion,  these  are  the  things  we  count 
precious ;  to  wealth  and  to  progress  we  are  indifferent,  save 
as  conducing  to  these.  And  thus,  like  the  speakers  who  pre- 
ceded me,  we  venture  to  criticise  and  doubt,  where  the  mod- 
ern man,  American  or  European,  simply  and  whole-heartedly, 
accepts.  For  this  it  would  be  idle  for  us  to  blame  ourselves, 
idle  even  to  regret;  we  should  simply  and  objectively  note 
that  we  are  out  of  court.  All  that  we  say  may  be  true,  but 
it  is  irrelevant.  'True,'  says  the  man  of  the  Future,  'we 
have  no  religion,  literature,  or  art;  we  don't  know  whence 
we  come,  nor  whither  we  go ;  but,  what  is  more  important, 
we  don't  care.  What  we  do  know  is,  that  we  are  moving 
faster  than  any  one  ever  moved  before;  and  that  there  is 
every  chance  of  our  moving  faster  and  faster.  To  inquire 
"whither"  is  the  one  thing  that  we  recognize  as  blasphemous. 
The  principle  of  the  Universe  is  Acceleration,  and  we  are 
its  exponents ;  what  is  not  accelerated  will  be  extinguished  ; 
and  if  we  cannot  answer  ultimate  questions,  that  is  the  less 
to  be  regretted  in  that,  a  few  centuries  hence,  there  will  be 
nobody  left  to  ask  them.' 

"Such  is  the  attitude  which  I  believe  to  be  that  of  the 
Future,  both  in  the  West  and  in  the  East.  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  sympathize  with  it ;  but  my  perception  of  it  gives 
a  peculiar  piquancy  to  my  own  position.  I  rejoice  that  I 
was  born  at  the  end  of  an  epoch  ;  that  I  stand  as  it  were  at  the 
summit,  just  before  the  plunge  into  the  valley  below;  and 
looking  back,  survey  and  summarize  in  a  glance  the  ages 
that  are  past.  I  rejoice  that  my  friends  are  Socrates  and 
Plato,  Dante,  Michelangelo,  Goethe  instead  of  Mr.  Carnegie 
and  Mr.  Pierpont  Morgan.  I  rejoice  that  I  belong  to  an 
effete  country;    and  that  I  sit  at  table  with  almost  the  last 


236  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

representatives  of  the  culture,  the  learning  and  the  ideals 
of  centuries  of  civilization.  I  prefer  the  tradition  of  the 
Past  to  that  of  the  Future ;  I  value  it  the  more  for  its  con- 
trast with  that  which  is  to  come ;  and  I  am  the  more  at 
ease  inasmuch  as  I  feel  myself  divested  of  all  responsibility 
towards  generations  whose  ideals  and  standards  I  am  unable 
to  appreciate. 

"All  this  shows,  of  course,  merely  that  I  am  not  one  of 
the  people  so  aptly  described  by  Wilson  as  the  'new  gen- 
eration.' But  I  flatter  myself  that  my  intellectual  appre- 
hension is  not  coloured  by  the  circumstances  of  my  own  case, 
and  that  I  have  given  you  a  clear  and  objective  picture  of 
what  it  is  that  really  constitutes  progress.  And  with  that 
proud  consciousness  in  my  mind,  I  resume  my  seat." 

PASSING  OF  THE  THIRD   FLOOR   BACK1 

By  Jerome  K.  Jerome 

The  neighborhood  of  Bloomsbury  Square  towards  four 
o'clock  of  a  November  afternoon  is  not  so  crowded  as  to 
secure  to  the  stranger,  of  appearance  anything  out  of  the 
common,  immunity  from  observation.  Tibb's  boy,  scream- 
ing at  the  top  of  his  voice  that  she  was  his  honey,  stopped 
suddenly,  stepped  backwards  on  to  the  toes  of  a  voluble 
young  lady  wheeling  a  perambulator,  and  remained  deaf, 
apparently,  to  the  somewhat  personal  remarks  of  the  voluble 
young  lady.  Not  until  he  had  reached  the  next  corner  — 
and  then  more  as  a  soliloquy  than  as  information  to  the 
street  —  did  Tibb's  boy  recover  sufficient  interest  in  his  own 
affairs  to  remark  that  he  was  her  bee.  The  voluble  young 
lady  herself,  following  some  half-a-dozen  yards  behind,  for- 
got her  wrongs  in  contemplation  of  the   stranger's  back. 

1  Reprinted  by  special  permission  of  the  author  and  of  the  publishers, 
Dodd,  Mead,  &  Co. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  237 

There  was  this  that  was  peculiar  about  the  stranger's  back : 
that  instead  of  being  flat  it  presented  a  decided  curve. 
"It  ain't  a  'ump,  and  it  don't  look  like  kervitcher  of  the 
spine,"  observed  the  voluble  young  lady  to  herself.  "Blimy 
if  I  don't  believe  'e's  taking  'ome  'is  washing  up  his  back." 

The  constable  at  the  corner,  trying  to  seem  busy  doing 
nothing,  noticed  the  stranger's  approach  with  gathering  in- 
terest. "That's  an  odd  sort  of  a  walk  of  yours,  young  man," 
thought  the  constable.  "You  take  care  you  don't  fall  down 
and  tumble  over  yourself." 

"Thought  he  was  a  young  man,"  murmured  the  constable, 
the  stranger  having  passed  him.  "He  had  a  young  face 
right  enough." 

The  daylight  was  fading.  The  stranger,  finding  it  impos- 
sible to  read  the  name  of  the  street  upon  the  corner  house, 
turned  back. 

"Why,  'tis  a  young  man,"  the  constable  told  himself; 
"a  mere  boy." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  stranger;  "but  would  you 
mind  telling  me  my  way  to  Bloomsbury  Square." 

"This  is  Bloomsbury  Square,"  explained  the  constable; 
"leastways  round  the  corner  is.  What  number  might  you 
be  wanting  ?" 

The  stranger  took  from  the  ticket  pocket  of  his  tightly 
buttoned  overcoat  a  piece  of  paper,  unfolded  it  and  read  it 
out:   "Mrs.  Pennycherry.     Number  Forty-eight." 

"  Round  to  the  left,"  instructed  him  the  constable ;  "  fourth 
house.     Been  recommended  there?" 

"By  —  by  a  friend,"  replied  the  stranger.  "Thank  you 
very  much." 

"Ah,"  muttered  the  constable  to  himself;  "guess  you 
won't  be  calling  him  that  by  the  end  of  the  week,  young 

"Funny,"  added  the  constable,  gazing  after  the  retreating 
figure  of  the  stranger.     "Seen  plenty  of  the  other  sex  as 


238  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

looked  young  behind  and  old  in  front.  This  cove  looks 
young  in  front  and  old  behind.  Guess  he'll  look  old  all  round 
if  he  stops  long  at  mother  Pennycherry's :    stingy  old  cat." 

Constables  whose  beat  included  Bloomsbury  Square  had 
their  reasons  for  not  liking  Mrs.  Pennycherry.  Indeed  it 
might  have  been  difficult  to  discover  any  human  being  with 
reasons  for  liking  that  sharp-featured  lady.  Maybe  the 
keeping  of  second-rate  boarding  houses  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Bloomsbury  does  not  tend  to  develop  the  virtues  of 
generosity  and  amiability. 

Meanwhile  the  stranger,  proceeding  upon"  his  way,  had 
rung  the  bell  of  Number  Forty-eight.  Mrs.  Pennycherry, 
peeping  from  the  area  and  catching  a  glimpse,  above  the 
railings,  of  a  handsome  if  somewhat  effeminate  masculine 
face,  hastened  to  readjust  her  widow's  cap  before  the  look- 
ing glass  while  directing  Mary  Jane  to  show  the  stranger, 
should  he  prove  a  problematical  boarder,  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  to  light  the  gas. 

"And  don't  stop  gossiping,  and  don't  you  take  it  upon 
yourself  to  answer  questions.  Say  I'll  be  up  in  a  minute," 
were  Mrs.  Pennycherry's  further  instructions,  "and  mind 
you  hide  your  hands  as  much  as  you  can." 

"What  are  you  grinning  at?"  demanded  Mrs.  Penny- 
cherry, a  couple  of  minutes  later,  of  the  dingy  Mary  Jane. 

"Wasn't  grinning,"  explained  the  meek  Mary  Jane, 
"was  only  smiling  to  myself." 

"What  at?" 

"Dunno,"  admitted  Mary  Jane.  But  still  she  went  on 
smiling. 

"What's  he  like  then?"  demanded  Mrs.  Pennycherry. 

"'E  ain't  the  usual  sort,"  was  Mary  Jane's  opinion. 

"Thank  God  for  that,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Pennycherry 
piously. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  239 

"Says  Vs  been  recommended,  by  a  friend." 

"By  whom?" 

"By  a  friend.     'E  didn't  say  no  name." 

Mrs.  Pennycherry  pondered.  "He's  not  the  funny  sort, 
is  he?" 

Not  that  sort  at  all.     Mary  Jane  was  sure  of  it. 

Mrs.  Pennycherry  ascended  the  stairs  still  pondering. 
As  she  entered  the  room  the  stranger  rose  and  bowed.  Noth- 
ing could  have  been  simpler  than  the  stranger's  bow,  yet 
there  came  with  it  to  Mrs.  Pennycherry  a  rush  of  old  sen- 
sations long  forgotten.  For  one  brief  moment  Mrs.  Penny- 
cherry saw  herself  an  amiable  well-bred  lady,  widow  of  a 
solicitor :  a  visitor  had  called  to  see  her.  It  was  but  a  mo- 
mentary fancy.  The  next  instant  Reality  reasserted  itself. 
Mrs.  Pennycherry,  a  lodging-house  keeper,  existing  pre- 
cariously upon  a  daily  round  of  petty  meannesses,  was  pre- 
pared for  contest  with  a  possible  new  boarder,  who  fortu- 
nately looked  an  inexperienced  young  gentleman. 

"Someone  has  recommended  me  to  you,"  began  Mrs. 
Pennycherry;    "may  I  ask  who?" 

But  the  stranger  waved  the  question  aside  as  immaterial. 

"You  might  not  remember — him,"  he  smiled.  "He 
thought  that  I  should  do  well  to  pass  the  few  months  I  am 
given  —  that  I  have  to  be  in  London,  here.  You  can  take 
me  in  ?" 

Mrs.  Pennycherry  thought  that  she  would  be  able  to 
take  the  stranger  in. 

"A  room  to  sleep  in,"  explained  the  stranger,  " — any 
room  will  do  —  with  food  and  drink  sufficient  for  a  man, 
is  all  that  I  require." 

"For  breakfast,"  began  Mrs.  Pennycherry,  "I  always 
give " 

"What  is  right  and  proper,  I  am  convinced,"  inter- 
rupted the   stranger.      "Pray   do  not   trouble   to  go  into 


240  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND  IMAGINATION 

detail,  Mrs.  Pennycherry.     With  whatever  it  is  I  shall  be 
content." 

Mrs.  Pennycherry,  puzzled,  shot  a  quick  glance  at  the 
stranger,  but  his  face,  though  the  gentle  eyes  were  smiling, 
was  frank  and  serious. 

"At  all  events  you  will  see  the  room,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Pennycherry,  "before  we  discuss  terms." 

"Certainly,"  agreed  the  stranger.  "I  am  a  little  tired 
and  shall  be  glad  to  rest  there." 

Mrs.  Pennycherry  led  the  way  upward ;  on  the  landing 
of  the  third  floor,  paused  a  moment  undecided,  then  opened 
the  door  of  the  back  bedroom. 

"It  is  very  comfortable,"  commented  the  stranger. 
"For  this  room,"  stated  Mrs.  Pennycherry,  "together 
with  full  board,  consisting  of " 

"Of  everything  needful.  It  goes  without  saying,"  again 
interrupted  the  stranger  with  his  quiet  grave  smile. 

"I  have  generally  asked,"  continued  Mrs.  Pennycherry, 
"four  pounds  a  week.  To  you — "  Mrs.  Pennycherry's 
voice,  unknown  to  her,  took  to  itself  the  note  of  aggressive 
generosity  —  "seeing  you  have  been  recommended  here, 
say  three  pounds  ten." 

"Dear  lady,"  said  the  stranger,  "that  is  kind  of  you. 
As  you  have  divined,  I  am  not  a  rich  man.  If  it  be  not 
imposing  upon  you  I  accept  your  reduction  with  gratitude." 

Again  Mrs.  Pennycherry,  familiar  with  the  satirical 
method,  shot  a  suspicious  glance  upon  the  stranger,  but  not 
a  line  was  there,  upon  that  smooth  fair  face,  to  which  a 
sneer  could  for  a  moment  have  clung.  Clearly  he  was  as 
simple  as  he  looked. 

"Gas,  of  course,  extra." 

"Of  course,"  agreed  the  stranger. 

"Coals " 

"We  shall  not  quarrel,"  for  a  third  time  the  stranger  in- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  241 

terrupted.  "You  have  been  very  considerate  to  me  as  it 
is.  I  feel,  Mrs.  Pennycherry,  I  can  leave  myself  entirely 
in  your  hands." 

The  stranger  appeared  anxious  to  be  alone.  Mrs.  Penny- 
cherry,  having  put  a  match  to  the  stranger's  fire,  turned  to 
depart.  And  at  this  point  it  was  that  Mrs.  Pennycherry, 
the  holder  hitherto  of  an  unbroken  record  for  sanity,  be- 
haved in  a  manner  she  herself,  five  minutes  earlier  in  her 
career,  would  have  deemed  impossible  —  that  no  living  soul 
who  had  ever  known  her  would  have  believed,  even  had 
Mrs.  Pennycherry  gone  down  upon  her  knees  and  sworn  it 
to  them. 

"Did  I  say  three  pound  ten?"  demanded  Mrs.  Penny- 
cherry of  the  stranger,  her  hand  upon  the  door.  She  spoke 
crossly.  She  was  feeling  cross,  with  the  stranger,  with  her- 
self —  particularly  with  herself. 

"You  were  kind  enough  to  reduce  it  to  that  amount," 
replied  the  stranger;  "but  if  upon  reflection  you  find  your- 
self unable " 

"I  was  making  a  mistake,"  said  Mrs.  Pennycherry,  "it 
should  have  been  two  pound  ten." 

"I  cannot — I  will  not  accept  such  sacrifice,"  exclaimed 
the  stranger;    "the  three  pound  ten  I  can  well  afford." 

"Two  pound  ten  are  my  terms,"  snapped  Mrs.  Penny- 
cherry. "If  you  are  bent  on  paying  more,  you  can  go  else- 
where.    You'll  find  plenty  to  oblige  you." 

Her  vehemence  must  have  impressed  the  stranger.  "We 
will  not  contend  further,"  he  smiled.  "I  was  merely  afraid 
that  in  the  goodness  of  your  heart " 

"Oh,  it  isn't  as  good  as  all  that,"  growled  Mrs.  Penny- 
cherry. 

"I  am  not  so  sure,"  returned  the  stranger.  "I  am  some- 
what suspicious  of  you.  But  wilful  woman  must,  I  suppose, 
have  her  way." 

R 


242  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

The  stranger  held  out  his  hand,  and  to  Mrs.  Pennycherry, 
at  that  moment,  it  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  to  take  it  as  if  it  had  been  the  hand  of  an  old  friend 
and  to  end  the  interview  with  a  pleasant  laugh  —  though 
laughing  was  an  exercise  not  often  indulged  in  by  Mrs. 
Pennycherry. 

Mary  Jane  was  standing  by  the  window,  her  hands  folded 
in  front  of  her,  when  Mrs.  Pennycherry  reentered  the 
kitchen.  By  standing  close  to  the  window  one  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  trees  in  Bloomsbury  Square  and  through 
their  bare  branches  of  the  sky  beyond. 

"There's  nothing  much  to  do  for  the  next  half  hour,  till 
Cook  comes  back.  I'll  see  to  the  door  if  you'd  like  a  run 
out?"  suggested  Mrs.  Pennycherry. 

"It  would  be  nice,"  agreed  the  girl  so  soon  as  she  had 
recovered  power  of  speech;  "it's  just  the  time  of  day  I 
like." 

"Don't  be  longer  than  the  half  hour,"  added  Mrs.  Penny- 
cherry. 

Forty-eight  Bloomsbury  Square,  assembled  after  dinner 
in  the  drawing-room,  discussed  the  stranger  with  that 
freedom  and  frankness  characteristic  of  Forty-eight  Blooms- 
bury Square,  towards  the  absent. 

"Not  what  I  call  a  smart  young  man,"  was  the  opinion 
of  Augustus  Longcord,  who  was  something  in  the  City. 

"Thpeaking  for  mythelf,"  commented  his  partner  Isidore, 
"hav'n'th  any  uthe  for  the  thmart  young  man.  Too  many 
of  him,  ath  it  ith." 

"Must  be  pretty  smart  if  he's  one  too  many  for  you," 
laughed  his  partner.  There  was  this  to  be  said  for  the 
repartee  of  Forty-eight  Bloomsbury  Square :  it  was  simple 
of  construction  and  easy  of  comprehension. 

"Well  it  made  me  feel  good  just  looking  at  him,"  declared 
Miss  Kite,  the  highly  coloured.     "It  was  his  clothes,  I  sup-. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  243 

pose  —  made  me  think  of  Noah    and   the  ark  —  all   that 
sort  of  thing." 

"It  would  be  clothes  that  would  make  you  think  —  if 
anything,"  drawled  the  languid  Miss  Devine.  She  was  a 
tall,  handsome  girl,  engaged  at  the  moment  in  futile  efforts 
to  recline  with  elegance  and  comfort  combined  upon  a 
horsehair  sofa.  Miss  Kite,  by  reason  of  having  secured 
the  only  easy-chair,  was  unpopular  that  evening;  so  that 
Miss  Devine's  remark  received  from  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany more  approbation  than  perhaps  it  merited. 

"Is  that  intended  to  be  clever,  dear,  or  only  rude?" 
Miss  Kite  requested  to  be  informed. 

"Both,"  claimed  Miss  Devine. 

"Myself,  I  must  confess,"  shouted  the  tall  young  lady's 
father,  commonly  called  the  Colonel,  "  I  found  him  a 
fool." 

"I  noticed  you  seemed  to  be  getting  on  very  well  to- 
gether," purred  his  wife,  a  plump,  smiling  little  lady. 

"Possibly  we  were,"  retorted  the  Colonel.  "Fate  has 
accustomed  me  to  the  society  of  fools." 

"Isn't  it  a  pity  to  start  quarrelling  immediately  after 
dinner,  you  two,"  suggested  their  thoughtful  daughter 
from  the  sofa,  "you'll  have  nothing  left  to  amuse  you  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening." 

"He  didn't  strike  me  as  a  conversationalist,"  said  the  lady 
who  was  cousin  to  a  baronet;  "but  he  did  pass  the  vegetables 
before  he  helped  himself.  A  little  thing  like  that  shows 
breeding." 

"Or  that  he  didn't  know  you  and  thought  maybe  you'd 
leave  him  half  a  spoonful,"  laughed  Augustus  the  wit. 

"What  I  can't  make  out  about  him "   shouted  the 

Colonel. 

The  stranger  entered  the  room. 

The  Colonel,  securing  the  evening  paper,  retired  into  a 


244  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

corner.  The  highly  coloured  Kite,  reaching  down  from  the 
mantelpiece  a  paper  fan,  held  it  coyly  before  her  face.  Miss 
Devine  sat  upright  on  the  horsehair  sofa,  and  rearranged 
her  skirts. 

"Know  anything?"  demanded  Augustus  of  the  stranger, 
breaking  the  somewhat  remarkable  silence. 

The  stranger  evidently  did  not  understand.  It  was  neces- 
sary for  Augustus,  the  witty,  to  advance  further  into  that 
odd  silence. 

"What's  going  to  pull  off  the  Lincoln  handicap?  Tell 
me,  and  I'll  go  out  straight  and  put  my  shirt  upon  it." 

"I  think  you  would  act  unwisely,"  smiled  the  stranger; 
"I  am  not  an  authority  upon  the  subject." 

"Not!  Why  they  told  me  you  were  Captain  Spy  of  the 
Sporting  Life  —  in  disguise." 

It  would  have  been  difficult  for  a  joke  to  fall  more  flat. 
Nobody  laughed,  though  why  Mr.  Augustus  Longcord 
could  not  understand,  and  maybe  none  of  his  audience 
could  have  told  him,  for  at  Forty-eight  Bloomsbury  Square 
Mr.  Augustus  Longcord  passed  as  a  humorist.  The  stranger 
himself  appeared  unaware  that  he  was  being  made  fun  of. 

"You  have  been  misinformed,"  assured  him  the  stranger. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Augustus  Longcord. 

"It  is  nothing,"  replied  the  stranger  in  his  sweet  low 
voice,  and  passed  on. 

"Well  what  about  this  theatre,"  demanded  Mr.  Longcord 
of  his  friend  and  partner ;  "  do  you  want  to  go  or  don't  you  ? " 
Mr.  Longcord  was  feeling  irritable. 

"Goth  the  ticketh  —  may  ath  well,"  thought  Isidore. 

"Damn  stupid  piece,  I'm  told." 

"Motht  of  them  thupid,  more  or  leth.  Pity  to  wathte 
the  ticketh,"  argued  Isidore,  and  the  pair  went  out. 

"Are  you  staying  long  in  London?"  asked  Miss  Kite, 
raising  her  practised  eyes  towards  the  stranger. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  245 

"Not  long,"  answered  the  stranger.  "At  least,  I  do  not 
know.     It  depends." 

An  unusual  quiet  had  invaded  the  drawing-room  of  Forty- 
eight  Bloomsbury  Square,  generally  noisy  with  strident  voices 
about  this  hour.  The  Colonel  remained  engrossed  in  his 
paper.  Mrs.  Devine  sat  with  her  plump  white  hands  folded 
on  her  lap,  whether  asleep  or  not  it  was  impossible  to  say. 

The  lady  who  was  cousin  to  a  baronet  had  shifted  her  chair 
beneath  the  gasolier,  her  eyes  bent  on  her  everlasting  crochet 
work.  The  languid  Miss  Devine  had  crossed  to  the  piano, 
where  she  sat  fingering  softly  the  tuneless  keys,  her  back  to 
the  cold  barely-furnished  room. 

"Sit  down,"  commanded  saucily  Miss  Kite,  indicating 
with  her  fan  the  vacant  seat  beside  her.  "Tell  me  about 
yourself.  You  interest  me."  Miss  Kite  adopted  a  pretty 
authoritative  air  towards  all  youthful-looking  members  of 
the  opposite  sex.  It  harmonised  with  the  peach  complexion 
and  the  golden  hair,  and  fitted  her  about  as  well. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  answered  the  stranger,  taking  the 
chair  suggested.     "I  so  wish  to  interest  you." 

"You're  a  very  bold  boy."  Miss  Kite  lowered  her  fan, 
for  the  purpose  of  glancing  archly  over  the  edge  of  it, 
and  for  the  first  time  encountered  the  eyes  of  the  stranger 
looking  into  hers.  And  then  it  was  that  Miss  Kite  experi- 
enced precisely  the  same  curious  sensation  that  an  hour  or 
so  ago  had  troubled  Mrs.  Pennycherry  when  the  stranger 
had  first  bowed  to  her.  It  seemed  to  Miss  Kite  that  she 
was  no  longer  the  Miss  Kite  that,  had  she  risen  and  looked 
into  it,  the  fly-blown  mirror  over  the  marble  mantelpiece 
would,  she  knew,  have  presented  to  her  view;  but  quite 
another  Miss  Kite  —  a  cheerful,  bright-eyed  lady  verging 
on  middle  age,  yet  still  good-looking  in  spite  of  her  faded 
complexion  and  somewhat  thin  brown  locks.  Miss  Kite  felt 
a  pang  of  jealousy   shoot   through   her;    this   middle-aged 


246  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Miss  Kite  seemed,  on  the  whole,  a  more  attractive  lady. 
There  was  a  wholesomeness,  a  broadmindedness  about  her 
that  instinctively  drew  one  towards  her.  Not  hampered, 
as  Miss  Kite  herself  was,  by  the  necessity  of  appearing  to  be 
somewhere  between  eighteen  and  twenty-two,  this  other 
Miss  Kite  could  talk  sensibly,  even  brilliantly :  one  felt  it. 
A  thoroughly  "nice"  woman  this  other  Miss  Kite;  the  real 
Miss  Kite,  though  envious,  was  bound  to  admit  it.  Miss 
Kite  wished  to  goodness  she  had  never  seen  the  woman. 
The  glimpse  of  her  had  rendered  Miss  Kite  dissatisfied  with 
herself. 

"I  am  not  a  boy,"  explained  the  stranger;  "and  I  had  no 
intention  of  being  bold." 

"I  know,"  replied  Miss  Kite.  "It  was  a  silly  remark. 
Whatever  induced  me  to  make  it,  I  can't  think.  Getting 
foolish  in  my  old  age,  I  suppose." 

The  stranger  laughed.     "Surely  you  are  not  old." 

"I'm  thirty-nine,"  snapped  out  Miss  Kite.  "You  don't 
call  it  young  ?" 

"I  think  it  a  beautiful  age,"  insisted  the  stranger;  "young 
enough  not  to  have  lost  the  joy  of  youth,  old  enough  to  have 
learnt  sympathy." 

"Oh,  I  daresay,"  returned  Miss  Kite,  "any  age  you'd 
think  beautiful.  I'm  going  to  bed."  Miss  Kite  rose.  The 
paper  fan  had  somehow  got  itself  broken.  She  threw  the 
fragments  into  the  fire. 

"It  is  early  yet,"  pleaded  the  stranger,  "I  was  looking 
forward  to  a  talk  with  you." 

"Well,  you'll  be  able  to  look  forward  to  it,"  retorted  Miss 
Kite.     "Good-night." 

The  truth  was,  Miss  Kite  was  impatient  to  have  a  look  at 
herself  in  the  glass,  in  her  own  room  with  the  door  shut. 
The  vision  of  that  other  Miss  Kite  —  the  clean-looking 
lady  of  the  pale  face  and  the  brown  hair  had  been  so  vivid, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  247 

Miss  Kite  wondered  whether  temporary  forgetfulness  might 
not  have  fallen  upon  her  while  dressing  for  dinner  that 
evening. 

The  stranger,  left  to  his  own  devices,  strolled  towards 
the  loo  table,  seeking  something  to  read. 

"You  seem  to  have  frightened  away  Miss  Kite,"  remarked 
the  lady  who  was  cousin  to  a  baronet. 

"It  seems  so,"  admitted  the  stranger. 

"My  cousin,  Sir  William  Bosster,"  observed  the  cro- 
cheting lady,  "who  married  old  Lord  Egham's  niece — you 
never  met  the  Eghams  ?" 

"Hitherto,"  replied  the  stranger,  "I  have  not  had  that 
pleasure." 

"A  charming  family.  Cannot  understand  —  my  cousin 
Sir  William,  I  mean,  cannot  understand  my  remaining  here. 
'My  dear  Emily'  —  he  says  the  same  thing  every  time  he 
sees  me:  'My  dear  Emily,  how  can  you  exist  among  the 
sort  of  people  one  meets  with  in  a  boarding-house.'  But 
they  amuse  me." 

A  sense  of  humour,  agreed  the  stranger,  was  always  of 
advantage. 

"Our  family  on  my  mother's  side,"  continued  Sir  Wil- 
liam's cousin  in  her  placid  monotone,  "was  connected  with 

the  Tatton-Joneses,  who  when  King  George  the  Fourth " 

Sir  William's  cousin,  needing  another  reel  of  cotton,  glanced 
up,  and  met  the  stranger's  gaze. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why  I'm  telling  you  all  this," 
said  Sir  William's  cousin  in  an  irritable  tone.  "It  can't 
possibly  interest  you." 

"Everything  connected  with  you  interests  me,"  gravely 
the  stranger  assured  her. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  sighed  Sir  William's 
cousin,  but  without  conviction;  "I  am  afraid  sometimes 
I  bore  people." 


248  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

The  polite  stranger  refrained  from  contradiction. 

"You  see,"  continued  the  poor  lady,  "I  really  am  of  good 
family." 

"Dear  lady,"  said  the  stranger,  "your  gentle  face,  your 
gentle  voice,  your  gentle  bearing,  all  proclaim  it." 

She  looked  without  flinching  into  the  stranger's  eyes,  and 
gradually  a  smile  banished  the  reigning  dulness  of  her  features. 

"How  foolish  of  me."  She  spoke  rather  to  herself  than 
to  the  stranger.  "Why,  of  course,  people  —  people  whose 
opinion  is  worth  troubling  about  —  judge  of  you  by  what  you 
are,  not  by  what  you  go  about  saying  you  are." 

The  stranger  remained  silent. 

"I  am  the  widow  of  a  provincial  doctor,  with  an  income 
of  just  two  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  per  annum,"  she 
argued.  "The  sensible  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  make  the 
best  of  it,  and  to  worry  myself  about  these  high  and  mighty 
relations  of  mine  as  little  as  they  have  ever  worried  them- 
selves about  me." 

The  stranger  appeared  unable  to  think  of  anything  worth 
saying. 

"I  have  other  connections,"  remembered  Sir  William's 
cousin;  "those  of  my  poor  husband,  to  whom  instead  of 
being  the  'poor  relation'  I  could  be  the  fairy  god-mama. 
They  are  my  people  —  or  would  be,"  added  Sir  William's 
cousin  tartly,  "if  I  wasn't  a  vulgar  snob." 

She  flushed  the  instant  she  had  said  the  words  and,  rising, 
commenced  preparations  for  a  hurried  departure. 

"Now  it  seems  I  am  driving  you  away,"  sighed  the 
stranger. 

"Having  been  called  a  'vulgar  snob,'"  retorted  the  lady 
with  some  heat,  "I  think  it  about  time  I  went." 

"The  words  were  your  own,"  the  stranger  reminded  her. 

"Whatever  I  may  have  thought,"  remarked  the  indig- 
nant dame,  "no  lady  —  least  of  all  in  the  presence  of  a  total 


ILLUSTRATIONS  249 

stranger  —  would  have  called  herself "     The  poor  dame 

paused,  bewildered.  "There  is  something  very  curious  the 
matter  with  me  this  evening,  that  I  cannot  understand," 
she  explained,  "I  seem  quite  unable  to  avoid  insulting 
myself." 

Still  surrounded  by  bewilderment,  she  wished  the  stranger 
good  night,  hoping  that  when'  next  they  met  she  would  be 
more  herself.  The  stranger,  hoping  so  also,  opened  the  door 
and  closed  it  again  behind  her. 

"Tell  me,"  laughed  Miss  Devine,  who  by  sheer  force  of 
talent  was  contriving  to  wring  harmony  from  the  reluctant 
piano,  "how  did  you  manage  to  do  it?  I  should  like  to 
know." 

"How  did  I  do  what?"  inquired  the  stranger. 
"Contrive  to  get  rid  so  quickly  of  those  two  old  frumps  ?" 
"How  well  you  play!"  observed  the  stranger.     "I  knew 
you  had  genius  for  music  the  moment  I  saw  you." 
"How  could  you  tell  ?" 
"It  is  written  so  clearly  in  your  face." 
The  girl  laughed,  well  pleased.     "You  seem  to  have  lost 
no  time  in  studying  my  face." 

"It  is  a  beautiful  and  interesting  face,"  observed  the 
stranger. 

She  swung  round  sharply  on  the  stool  and  their  eyes  met. 
"You  can  read  faces?" 
"Yes." 
"Tell  me,  what  else  do  you  read  in  mine  ?" 

"Frankness,  courage " 

"Ah,  yes,  all  the  virtues.  Perhaps.  We  will  take  them 
for  granted."  It  was  odd  how  serious  the  girl  had  suddenly 
become.     "Tell  me  the  reverse  side." 

,  "I  see  no  reverse  side,"  replied  the  stranger.  "I  see  but 
a  fair  girl,  bursting  into  noble  womanhood." 

"And  nothing  else  ?     You  read  no  trace  of  greed,  of  vanity, 


250  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

of  sordidness,  of "     An  angry  laugh  escaped  her  lips. 

"And  you  are  a  reader  of  faces !" 

"A  reader  of  faces."  The  stranger  smiled.  "Do  you 
know  what  is  written  upon  yours  at  this  very  moment  ?  A 
love  of  truth  that  is  almost  fierce,  scorn  of  lies,  scorn  of 
hypocrisy,  the  desire  for  all  things  pure,  contempt  of  all 
things  that  are  contemptible  —  especially  of  such  things 
as  are  contemptible  in  woman.  Tell  me,  do  I  not  read 
aright  ? " 

I  wonder,  thought  the  girl,  is  that  why  those  two  others 
both  hurried  from  the  room  ?  Does  everyone  feel  ashamed 
of  the  littleness  that  is  in  them  when  looked  at  by  those  clear, 
believing  eyes  of  yours  ? 

The  idea  occurred  to  her:  "Papa  seemed  to  have  a  good 
deal  to  say  to  you  during  dinner.  Tell  me,  what  were  you 
talking  about?" 

"The  military  looking  gentleman  upon  my  left?  We 
talked  about  your  mother  principally." 

"I  am  sorry,"  returned  the  girl,  wishful  now  she  had  not 
asked  the  question.  "I  was  hoping  he  might  have  chosen 
another  topic  for  the  first  evening!" 

"He  did  try  one  or  two,"  admitted  the  stranger;  "but 
I  have  been  about  the  world  so  little,  I  was  glad  when  he 
talked  to  me  about  himself.  I  feel  we  shall  be  friends.  He 
spoke  so  nicely,  too,  about  Mrs.  Devine." 

"Indeed,"  commented  the  girl. 

"He  told  me  he  had  been  married  for  twenty  years  and 
had  never  regretted  it  but  once  !" 

Her  black  eyes  flashed  upon  him,  but  meeting  his,  the 
suspicion  died  from  them.  She  turned  aside  to  hide  her 
smile. 

"So  he  regretted  it  —  once." 

"Only  once,"  explained  the  stranger,  "a  passing  irritable 
mood.     It  was  so  frank  of  him  to  admit  it.     He  told  me  — 


ILLUSTRATIONS  25 1 

I  think  he  has  taken  a  liking  to  me.  Indeed  he  hinted  as 
much.  He  said  he  did  not  often  get  an  opportunity  of  talk- 
ing to  a  man  like  myself  —  he  told  me  that  he  and  your 
mother,  when  they  travel  together,  are  always  mistaken  for 
a  honeymoon  couple.  Some  of  the  experiences  he  related 
to  me  were  really  quite  amusing."  The  stranger  laughed 
at  recollection  of  them  —  "that  even  here,  in  this  place, 
they  are  generally  referred  to  as  'Darby  and  Joan.'" 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "that  is  true.  Mr.  Longcord  gave 
them  that  name,  the  second  evening  after  our  arrival.  It 
was  considered  clever  —  but  rather  obvious  I  thought  my- 
self." 

"Nothing  —  so  it  seems  to  me,"  said  the  stranger,  "is 
more  beautiful  than  the  love  that  has  weathered  the  storms 
of  life.  The  sweet,  tender  blossom  that  flowers  in  the  heart 
of  the  young  —  in  hearts  such  as  yours  —  that,  too,  is  beau- 
tiful. The  love  of  the  young  for  the  young,  that  is  the 
beginning  of  life.  But  the  love  of  the  old  for  the  old,  that 
is  the  beginning  of  —  of  things  longer." 

"You  seem  to  find  all  things  beautiful,"  the  girl  grumbled. 

"But  are  not  all  things  beautiful  ?"  demanded  the  stranger. 

The  Colonel  had  finished  his  paper.  "You  two  are 
engaged  in  a  very  absorbing  conversation,"  observed  the 
Colonel,  approaching  them. 

"We  were  discussing  Darbies  and  Joans,"  explained  his 
daughter.  "How  beautiful  is  the  love  that  has  weathered 
the  storms  of  life !" 

"Ah!"  smiled  the  Colonel,  "that  is  hardly  fair.  My 
friend  has  been  repeating  to  cynical  youth  the  confessions 
of  an  amorous  husband's  affection  for  his  middle-aged  and 

somewhat "     The    Colonel    in    playful    mood    laid    his 

hand  upon  the  stranger's  shoulder,  an  action  that  neces- 
sitated his  looking  straight  into  the  stranger's  eyes.  The 
Colonel  drew  himself  up  stiffly  and  turned  scarlet. 


252  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Somebody  was  calling  the  Colonel  a  cad.  Not  only  that, 
but  was  explaining  quite  clearly,  so  that  the  Colonel  could 
see  it  for  himself,  why  he  was  a  cad. 

"That  you  and  your  wife  lead  a  cat  and  dog  existence  is 
a  disgrace  to  both  of  you.  At  least  you  might  have  the 
decency  to  try  and  hide  it  from  the  world  —  not  make  a 
jest  of  your  shame  to  every  passing  stranger.  You  are  a 
cad,  sir,  a  cad !" 

Who  was  daring  to  say  these  things  ?  Not  the  stranger, 
his  lips  had  not  moved.  Besides,  it  was  not  his  voice.  In- 
deed it  sounded  much  more  like  the  voice  of  the  Colonel 
himself.  The  Colonel  looked  from  the  stranger  to  his 
daughter,  from  his  daughter  back  to  the  stranger.  Clearly 
they  had  not  heard  the  voice  —  a  mere  hallucination.  The 
Colonel  breathed  again. 

Yet  the  impression  remaining  was  not  to  be  shaken 
off.  Undoubtedly  it  was  bad  taste  to  have  joked  to  the 
stranger  upon  such  a  subject.  No  gentleman  would  have 
done  so. 

But  then  no  gentleman  would  have  permitted  such  a  jest 
to  be  possible.  No  gentleman  would  be  forever  wrangling 
with  his  wife  —  certainly  never  in  public.  However  irri- 
tating the  woman,  a  gentleman  would  have  exercised  self- 
control. 

Mrs.  Devine  had  risen,  was  coming  slowly  across  the 
room.  Fear  laid  hold  of  the  Colonel.  She  was  going  to 
address  some  aggravating  remark  to  him  —  he  could  see  it 
in  her  eye  —  which  would  irritate  him  into  savage  retort. 
Even  this  prize  idiot  of  a  stranger  would  understand  why 
boarding-house  wits  had  dubbed  them  "Darby  and  Joan," 
would  grasp  the  fact  that  the  gallant  Colonel  had  thought 
it  amusing,  in  conversation  with  a  table  acquaintance,  to 
hold  his  own  wife  up  to  ridicule. 

"My  dear,"  cried  the  Colonel,  hurrying  to  speak  first, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  253 

"does  not  this  room  strike  you  as  cold  ?     Let  me  fetch  you 
a  shawl." 

It  was  useless  :  the  Colonel  felt  it.  It  had  been  too  long 
the  custom  of  both  of  them  to  preface  with  politeness  their 
deadliest  insults  to  each  other.  She  came  on,  thinking  of 
a  suitable  reply :  suitable  from  her  point  of  view,  that  is. 
In  another  moment  the  truth  would  be  out.  A  wild,  fan- 
tastic possibility  flashed  through  the  Colonel's  brain  :  If  to 
him,  why  not  to  her  ? 

"Letitia,"  cried  the  Colonel,  and  the  tone  of  his  voice 
surprised  her  into  silence,  "I  want  you  to  look  closely  at 
our  friend.     Does  he  not  remind  you  of  someone?" 

Mrs.  Devine,  so  urged,  looked  at  the  stranger  long  and 
hard.  "Yes,"  she  murmured,  turning  to  her  husband,  "he 
does,  who  is  it  ?" 

"I  cannot  fix  it,"  replied  the  Colonel;  "I  thought  that 
maybe  you  would  remember." 

"It  will  come  to  me,"  mused  Mrs.  Devine.  "It  is  some 
one — years  ago,  when  I  was  a  girl  —  in  Devonshire. 
Thank  you,  if  it  isn't  troubling  you,  Harry.  I  left  it  in  the 
dining-room." 

It  was,  as  Mr.  Augustus  Longcord  explained  to  his  part- 
ner Isidore,  the  colossal  foolishness  of  the  stranger  that  was 
the  cause  of  all  the  trouble.  "Give  me  a  man,  who  can 
take  care  of  himself  —  or  thinks  he  can,"  declared  Augustus 
Longcord,  "and  I  am  prepared  to  give  a  good  account  of 
myself.  But  when  a  helpless  baby  refuses  even  to  look  at 
what  you  call  your  figures,  tells  you  that  your  mere  word 
is  sufficient  for  him,  and  hands  you  over  his  cheque-book  to 
fill  up  for  yourself  —  well,  it  isn't  playing  the  game." 

"Auguthuth,"  was  the  curt  comment  of  his  partner, 
"you're  a  fool." 

"All  right,  my  boy,  you  try,"  suggested  Augustus. 

"Jutht  what  I  mean  to  do,"  asserted  his  partner. 


254  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

"Well,"  demanded  Augustus  one  evening  later,  meeting 
Isidore  ascending  the  stairs  after  a  long  talk  with  the  stranger 
in  the  dining-room  with  the  door  shut. 

"Oh,  don't  arth  me,"  retorted  Isidore,  "thilly  ath,  thath 
what  he  ith." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"What  did  he  thay!  talked  about  the  Jewth :  what  a 
grand  rathe  they  were  —  how  people  mithjudged  them : 
all  that  thort  of  rot. 

"Thaid  thome  of  the  motht  honorable  men  he  had  ever 
met  had  been  Jewth.     Thought  I  wath  one  of  'em !" 

"Well,  did  you  get  anything  out  of  him?" 

"Get  anything  out  of  him.  Of  courthe  not.  Couldn't 
very  well  thell  the  whole  rathe,  ath  it  were,  for  a  couple  of 
hundred  poundth,  after  that.     Didn't  theem  worth  it." 

There  were  many  things  Forty-eight  Bloomsbury  Square 
came  gradually  to  the  conclusion  were  not  worth  the  doing: 
—  Snatching  at  the  gravy ;  pouncing  out  of  one's  turn  upon 
the  vegetables  and  helping  oneself  to  more  than  one's  fair 
share;  manoeuvring  for  the  easy-chair;  sitting  on  the 
evening  paper  while  pretending  not  to  have  seen  it  —  all 
such-like  tiresome  bits  of  business.  For  the  little  one  made 
out  of  it,  really  it  was  not  worth  the  bother.  Grumbling 
everlastingly  at  one's  food  ;  grumbling  everlastingly  at  most 
things;  abusing  Pennycherry  behind  her  back;  abusing, 
for  a  change,  one's  fellow-boarders ;  squabbling  with  one's 
fellow-boarders  about  nothing  in  particular;  sneering  at 
one's  fellow-boarders ;  talking  scandal  of  one's  fellow- 
boarders  ;  making  senseless  jokes  about  one's  fellow-board- 
ers;  talking  big  about  oneself,  nobody  believing  one  —  all 
such-like  vulgarities.  Other  boarding-houses  might  indulge 
in  them :  Forty-eight  Bloomsbury  Square  had  its  dignity 
to  consider. 

The  truth  is,  Forty-eight  Bloomsbury  Square  was  coming 


ILLUSTRATIONS  255 

to  a  very  good  opinion  of  itself :  for  the  which  not  Blooms- 
bury  Square  so  much  as  the  stranger  must  be  blamed.  The 
stranger  had  arrived  at  Forty-eight  Bloomsbury  Square 
with  the  preconceived  idea  —  where  obtained  from  Heaven 
knows  —  that  its  seemingly  commonplace,  mean-minded, 
coarse-fibred  occupants  were  in  reality  ladies  and  gentlemen 
of  the  first  water;  and  time  and  observation  had  appar- 
ently only  strengthened  this  absurd  idea.  The  natural 
result  was,  Forty-eight  Bloomsbury  Square  was  coming 
round  to  the  stranger's  opinion  of  itself. 

Mrs.  Pennycherry,  the  stranger  would  persist  in  regarding 
as  a  lady  born  and  bred,  compelled  by  circumstances  over 
which  she  had  no  control  to  fill  an  arduous  but  honorable 
position  of  middle-class  society  —  a  sort  of  foster-mother, 
to  whom  were  due  the  thanks  and  gratitude  of  her  pro- 
miscuous family ;  and  this  view  of  herself  Mrs.  Pennycherry 
now  clung  to  with  obstinate  conviction.  There  were  dis- 
advantages attaching,  but  these  Mrs.  Pennycherry  appeared 
prepared  to  suffer  cheerfully.  A  lady  born  and  bred  cannot 
charge  other  ladies  and  gentlemen  for  coals  and  candles 
they  have  never  burnt;  a  foster-mother  cannot  palm  off 
upon  her  children  New  Zealand  mutton  for  Southdown. 
A  mere  lodging-house-keeper  can  play  these  tricks,  and 
pocket  the  profits.  But  a  lady  feels  she  cannot :  Airs. 
Pennycherry  felt  she  no  longer  could. 

To  the  stranger  Miss  Kite  was  a  witty  and  delightful 
conversationalist  of  most  attractive  personality.  Miss 
Kite  had  one  failing:  it  was  lack  of  vanity.  She  was  un- 
aware of  her  own  delicate  and  refined  beauty.  If  Miss  Kite 
could  only  see  herself  with  his,  the  stranger's  eyes,  the  modesty 
that  rendered  her  distrustful  of  her  natural  charms  would 
fall  from  her.  The  stranger  was  so  sure  of  it  Miss  Kite 
determined  to  put  it  to  the  test.  One  evening,  an  hour 
before  dinner,  there  entered  the  drawing-room,   when  the 


256  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

stranger  only  was  there  and  before  the  gas  was  lighted,  a 
pleasant,  good-looking  lady,  somewhat  pale,  with  neatly- 
arranged  brown  hair,  who  demanded  of  the  stranger  if  he 
knew  her.  All  her  body  was  trembling,  and  her  voice 
seemed  inclined  to  run  away  from  her  and  become  a  sob. 
But  when  the  stranger,  looking  straight  into  her  eyes,  told 
her  that  from  the  likeness  he  thought  she  must  be  Miss 
Kite's  younger  sister,  but  much  prettier,  it  became  a  laugh 
instead :  and  that  evening  the  golden-haired  Miss  Kite  dis- 
appeared never  to  show  her  high-coloured  face  again ;  and 
what  perhaps,  more  than  all  else,  might  have  impressed  some 
former  habitue  of  Forty-eight  Bloomsbury  Square  with  awe, 
it  was  that  no  one  in  the  house  made  even  a  passing  inquiry 
concerning  her. 

Sir  William's  cousin  the  stranger  thought  an  acquisition 
to  any  boarding-house.  A  lady  of  high-class  family  !  There 
was  nothing  outward  or  visible  perhaps  to  tell  you  that  she 
was  of  high-class  family.  She  herself,  naturally,  would 
not  mention  the  fact,  yet  somehow  you  felt  it.  Uncon- 
sciously she  set  a  high-class  tone,  diffused  an  atmosphere  of 
gentle  manners.  Not  that  the  stranger  had  said  this  in  so 
many  words ;  Sir  William's  cousin  gathered  that  he  thought 
it,  and  felt  herself  in  agreement  with  him. 

For  Mr.  Longcord  and  his  partner,  as  representatives 
of  the  best  type  of  business  men,  the  stranger  had  a  great 
respect.  With  what  unfortunate  results  to  themselves  has 
been  noted.  The  curious  thing  is  that  the  Firm  appeared 
content  with  the  price  they  had  paid  for  the  stranger's 
good  opinion  —  had  even,  it  was  rumoured,  acquired  a 
taste  for  honest  men's  respect  —  that  in  the  long  run 
was  likely  to  cost  them  dear.  But  we  all  have  our  pet 
extravagance. 

The  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Devine  both  suffered  a  good  deal 
at  first  from  the  necessity  imposed  upon  them  of  learning, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  257 

somewhat  late  in  life,  new  tricks.  In  the  privacy  of  their 
own  apartment  they  condoled  with  one  another. 

"Tomfool  nonsense,"  grumbled  the  Colonel,  "you  and  I 
starting  billing  and  cooing  at  our  age  !" 

"What  I  object  to,"  said  Mrs.  Devine,  "is  the  feeling  that 
somehow  I  am  being  made  to  do  it." 

"The  idea  that  a  man  and  his  wife  cannot  have  their 
little  joke  together  for  fear  of  what  some  impertinent  jacka- 
napes may  think  of  them  !  it's  damn  ridiculous,"  the  Colonel 
exploded. 

"Even  when  he  isn't  there,"  said  Mrs.  Devine,  "I  seem 
to  see  him  looking  at  me  with  those  vexing  eyes  of  his. 
Really  the  man  quite  haunts  me." 

"I  have  met  him  somewhere,"  mused  the  Colonel,  "I'll 
swear  I've  met  him  somewhere.  I  wish  to  goodness  he 
would  go." 

A  hundred  things  a  day  the  Colonel  wanted  to  say  to  Mrs. 
Devine,  a  hundred  things  a  day  Mrs.  Devine  would  have  liked 
to  observe  to  the  Colonel.  But  by  the  time  the  opportunity 
occurred  —  when  nobody  else  was  by  to  hear  —  all  interest 
in  saying  them  was  gone. 

"Women  will  be  women,"  was  the  sentiment  with  which 
the  Colonel  consoled  himself.  "A  man  must  bear  with 
them  —  must  never  forget  that  he  is  a  gentleman." 

"Oh,  well,  I  suppose  they're  all  alike,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Devine  to  herself,  having  arrived  at  that  stage  of  despair 
when  one  seeks  refuge  in  cheerfulness.  "What's  the  use 
of  putting  oneself  out  —  it  does  no  good,  and  only  upsets 
one." 

There  is  a  certain  satisfaction  in  feeling  you  are  bearing 
with  heroic  resignation  the  irritating  follies  of  others. 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Devine  came  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  much 
self-approbation. 

But  the  person  seriously  annoyed  by  the  stranger's  bigoted 
s 


258  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

belief  in  the  innate  goodness  of  everyone  he  came  across 
was  the  languid,  handsome  Miss  Devine.  The  stranger 
would  have  it  that  Miss  Devine  was  a  noble-souled,  high- 
minded  young  woman,  something  midway  between  a  Flora 
Macdonald  and  a  Joan  of  Arc.  Miss  Devine,  on  the  contrary, 
knew  herself  to  be  a  sleek,  luxury-loving  animal,  quite  will- 
ing to  sell  herself  to  the  bidder  who  could  offer  her  the 
finest  clothes,  the  richest  foods,  the  most  sumptuous  sur- 
roundings. Such  a  bidder  was  to  hand  in  the  person  of  a 
retired  bookmaker,  a  somewhat  greasy  old  gentleman,  but 
exceedingly  rich  and  undoubtedly  fond  of  her. 

Miss  Devine,  having  made  up  her  mind  that  the  thing  had 
got  to  be  done,  was  anxious  that  it  should  be  done  quickly. 
And  here  it  was  that  the  stranger's  ridiculous  opinion  of 
her  not  only  irritated  but  inconvenienced  her.  Under  the 
very  eyes  of  a  person  —  however  foolish  —  convinced  that 
you  are  possessed  of  all  the  highest  attributes  of  your  sex, 
it  is  difficult  to  behave  as  though  actuated  by  only  the  basest 
motives.  A  dozen  times  had  Miss  Devine  determined  to 
end  the  matter  by  formal  acceptance  of  her  elderly  ad- 
mirer's large  and  flabby  hand,  and  a  dozen  times  —  the  vision 
intervening  of  the  stranger's  grave,  believing  eyes  —  had 
Miss  Devine  refused  decided  answer.  The  stranger  would 
one  day  depart.  Indeed,  he  had  told  her  himself,  he  was  but 
a  passing  traveller.  When  he  was  gone  it  would  be  easier. 
So  she  thought  at  the  time. 

One  afternoon  the  stranger  entered  the  room  where  she 
was  standing  by  the  window,  looking  out  upon  the  bare 
branches  of  the  trees  in  Bloomsbury  Square.  She  remem- 
bered afterwards,  it  was  just  such  another  foggy  afternoon 
as  the  afternoon  of  the  stranger's  arrival  three  months  be- 
fore. No  one  else  was  in  the  room.  The  stranger  closed 
the  door,  and  came  towards  her  with  that  curious,  quick- 
leaping  step  of  his.     His  long  coat  was  tightly  buttoned, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  259 

and  in  his  hands  he  carried  his  old  felt  hat  and  the  massive 
knotted  stick  that  was  almost  a  staff. 

"I  have  come  to  say  good-bye,"  explained  the  stranger. 
"I  am  going." 

"I  shall  not  see  you  again  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"I  cannot  say,"  replied  the  stranger.  "But  you  will 
think  of  me?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  with  a  smile,  "I  can  promise  that." 

"And  I  shall  always  remember  you,"  promised  the  stranger, 
"  and  I  wish  you  every  joy  —  the  joy  of  love,  the  joy  of  a 
happy  marriage." 

The  girl  winced.  "Love  and  marriage  are  not  always 
the  same  thing,"  she  said. 

"Not  always,"  agreed  the  stranger,  "but  in  your  case 
they  will  be  one." 

She  looked  at  him. 

"Do  you  think  I  have  not  noticed  ?"  smiled  the  stranger, 
"a  gallant,  handsome  lad,  and  clever.  You  love  him  and 
he  loves  you.  I  could  not  have  gone  away  without  know- 
ing it  was  well  with  you." 

Her  gaze  wandered  towards  the  fading  light. 

"Ah,  yes,  I  love  him,"  she  answered  petulantly.  "Your 
eyes  can  see  clearly  enough,  when  they  want  to.  But  one 
does  not  live  on  love,  in  our  world.  I  will  tell  you  the  man 
I  am  going  to  marry  if  you  care  to  know."  She  would  not 
meet  his  eyes.  She  kept  her  gaze  still  fixed  upon  the  dingy 
trees,  the  mist  beyond,  and  spoke  rapidly  and  vehemently : 
"The  man  who  can  give  me  all  my  soul's  desire  —  money 
and  the  things  that  money  can  buy.  You  think  me  a 
woman,  I'm  only  a  pig.  He  is  moist,  and  breathes  like  a 
porpoise ;  with  cunning  in  place  of  a  brain,  and  the  rest 
of  him  mere  stomach.     But  he  is  good  enough  for  me." 

She  hoped  this  would  shock  the  stranger  and  that  now, 
perhaps,  he  would  go.    It  irritated  her  to  hear  him  only  laugh. 


260  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  will  not  marry  him." 

"Who  will  stop  me?"  she  cried  angrily. 

"Your  Better  Self." 

His  voice  had  a  strange  ring  of  authority,  compelling  her 
to  turn  and  look  upon  his  face.  Yes,  it  was  true,  the  fancy 
that  from  the  very  first  had  haunted  her.  She  had  met 
him,  talked  to  him  —  in  silent  country  roads,  in  crowded 
city  streets,  where  was  it  ?  And  always  in  talking  with  him 
her  spirit  had  been  lifted  up  :  she  had  been  —  what  he  had 
always  thought  her. 

"There  are  those,"  continued  the  stranger  (and  for  the 
first  time  she  saw  that  he  was  of  a  noble  presence,  that  his 
gentle,  childlike  eyes  could  also  command),  "whose  Better 
Self  lies  slain  by  their  own  hand  and  troubles  them  no  more. 
But  yours,  my  child,  you  have  let  grow  too  strong;  it  will 
ever  be  your  master.  You  must  obey.  Flee  from  it  and  it 
will  follow  you ;  you  cannot  escape  it.  Insult  it  and  it 
will  chastise  you  with  burning  shame,  with  stinging  self- 
reproach  from  day  to  day."  The  sternness  faded  from  the 
beautiful  face,  the  tenderness  crept  back.  He  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  young  girl's  shoulder.  "You  will  marry  your 
lover,"  he  smiled.  "With  him  you  will  walk  the  way  of 
sunlight  and  of  shadow." 

And  the  girl,  looking  up  into  the  strong,  calm  face,  knew 
that  it  would  be  so,  that  the  power  of  resisting  her  Better 
Self  had  passed  away  from  her  for  ever. 

"Now,"  said  the  stranger,  "come  to  the  door  with  me. 
Leave-takings  are  but  wasted  sadness.  Let  me  pass  out 
quietly.     Close  the  door  softly  behind  me." 

She  thought  that  perhaps  he  would  turn  his  face  again, 
but  she  saw  no  more  of  him  than  the  odd  roundness  of  his 
back  under  the  tightly  buttoned  coat,  before  he  faded  into 
the  gathering  fog. 

Then  softly  she  closed  the  door. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  26 1 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  LAST  TRUMP1 

By  H.  G.  Wells 

I 

"After  this  war,"  said  Wilkins,  "after  its  revelation  of 
horrors  and  waste  and  destruction,  it  is  impossible  that 
people  will  tolerate  any  longer  that  system  of  diplomacy  and 
armaments  and  national  aggression  that  has  brought  this 
catastrophe  upon  mankind.  This  is  the  war  that  will  end 
war." 

"Osborn,"  said  Boon,  "Osborn." 

"But  after  all  the  world  has  seen !" 

"The  world  doesn't  see,"  said  Boon.  .  .  . 

Boon's  story  of  the  Last  Trump  may  well  come  after  this 
to  terminate  my  book.  It  has  been  by  no  means  an  easy 
task  to  assemble  the  various  portions  of  this  manuscript.  It 
is  written  almost  entirely  in  pencil,  and  sometimes  the  writ- 
ing is  so  bad  as  to  be  almost  illegible.  But  here  at  last  it 
is,  as  complete,  I  think,  as  Boon  meant  it  to  be.  It  is  his 
epitaph  upon  his  dream  of  the  Mind  of  the  Race. 


The  story  of  the  Last  Trump  begins  in  heaven,  and  it 
ends  in  all  sorts  of  places  round  about  the  world. 

Heaven,  you  must  know,  is  a  kindly  place,  and  the  blessed 
ones  do  not  go  on  forever  singing  Alleluia,  whatever  you 
may  have  been  told.  For  they,  too,  are  finite  creatures, 
and  must  be  fed  with  their  eternity  in  little  bits,  as  one 
feeds  a  chick  or  a  child.  So  there  are  mornings  and  changes 
and  freshness,  there  is  time  to  condition  their  lives.  And 
the   children   are   still   children,   gravely   eager   about   their 

1  From  "  Boon,"  pp.  301-308.  Reprinted  by  special  permission  of  the 
author  and  the  publishers,  the  George  H.  Doran  Company. 


262  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

playing  and  ready  always  for  new  things;  just  children 
they  are,  but  blessed  as  you  see  them  in  the  pictures  be- 
neath the  careless  feet  of  the  Lord  God.  And  one  of  these 
blessed  children  routing  about  in  an  attic  —  for  heaven  is, 
of  course,  full  of  the  most  heavenly  attics,  seeing  that  it 
has  children  —  came  upon  a  number  of  instruments  stored 
away,  and  laid  its  little  chubby  hands  upon  them.  .  .  . 

Now,  indeed,  I  cannot  tell  what  these  instruments  were, 
for  to  do  so  would  be  to  invade  mysteries.  .  .  .  But  one 
I  may  tell  of,  and  that  was  a  great  brazen  trumpet  which 
the  Lord  God  had  made  when  He  made  the  world  —  for  the 
Lord  God  finishes  all  His  jobs  —  to  blow  when  the  time  for 
our  Judgement  came  round.  And  He  had  made  it  and  left 
it;  there  it  was,  and  everything  was  settled  exactly  as 
the  Doctrine  of  Predestination  declares.  And  this  blessed 
child  conceived  one  of  those  unaccountable  passions  of  child- 
hood for  its  smoothness  and  brassiness,  and  he  played  with 
it  and  tried  to  blow  it,  and  trailed  it  about  with  him  out  of 
the  attic  into  the  gay  and  golden  streets,  and,  after  many 
fitful  wanderings,  to  those  celestial  battlements  of  crystal 
of  which  you  have  doubtless  read.  And  there  the  blessed 
child  fell  to  counting  the  stars,  and  forgot  all  about  the  trum- 
pet beside  him  until  a  flourish  of  his  elbow  sent  it  over. 

Down  fell  the  trump,  spinning  as  it  fell,  and  for  a  day  or 
so,  which  seemed  but  moments  in  heaven,  the  blessed  child 
watched  its  fall  until  it  was  a  glittering  little  speck  of  bright- 
ness. .  .  . 

When  it  looked  a  second  time  the  trump  was  gone.  .  .  . 
I  do  not  know  what  happened  to  that  child  when  at  last  it 
was  time  for  Judgement  Day  and  that  shining  trumpet  was 
missed.  I  know  that  Judgement  Day  is  long  overpassed, 
because  of  the  wickedness  of  the  world  ;  I  think  perhaps  it 
was  in  1000  a. d.  when  the  expected  Day  should  have  dawned 
that  never  came,  but  no  other  heavenly  particulars  do  I 


ILLUSTRATIONS  263 

know  at  all,  because  now  my  scene  changes  to  the  narrow 
ways  of  this  Earth.  .  .  .    And  the  Prologue  in  heaven  ends. 


And  now  the  scene  is  a  dingy  little  shop  in  Caledonian 
Market,  where  things  of  an  incredible  worthlessness  lie  in 
wait  for  such  as  seek  after  an  impossible  cheapness.  In  the 
window,  as  though  it  had  always  been  there  and  never  any- 
where else,  lies  a  long,  battered,  discoloured  trumpet  of 
brass  that  no  prospective  purchaser  has  ever  been  able  to 
sound.  In  it  mice  shelter,  and  dust  and  fluff  have  gathered 
after  the  fashion  of  this  world.  The  keeper  of  the  shop  is 
a  very  old  man,  and  he  bought  the  shop  long  ago,  but 
already  this  trumpet  was  there ;  he  has  no  idea  whence  it 
came,  nor  its  country  or  origin,  nor  anything  about  it.  But 
once  in  a  moment  of  enterprise  that  led  to  nothing  he  de- 
cided to  call  it  an  Ancient  Ceremonial  Shawm,  though  he 
ought  to  have  known  that  whatever  a  shawm  may  be  the 
last  thing  it  was  likely  to  be  is  a  trumpet,  seeing  that 
they  are  always  mentioned  together.  And  above  it  hung 
concertinas  and  melodeons  and  cornets  and  tin  whistles  and 
mouth-organs  and  all  that  rubbish  of  musical  instruments 
which  delight  the  hearts  of  the  poor.  Until  one  day  two 
blackened  young  men  from  the  big  motor  works  in  the 
Pansophist  Road  stood  outside  the  window  and  argued. 

They  argued  about  these  instruments  in  stock  and  how 
you  made  these  instruments  sound,  because  they  were  fond 
of  argument,  and  one  asserted  and  the  other  denied  that  he 
could  make  every  instrument  in  the  place  sound  a  note. 
And  the  argument  rose  high,  and  led  to  a  bet. 

"Supposing,  of  course,  that  the  instrument  is  in  order," 
said  Hoskin,  who  was  betting  he  could. 

"That's  understood,"  said  Briggs. 


264  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

And  then  they  called  as  witnesses  certain  other  young 
and  black  and  greasy  men  in  the  same  employment,  and 
after  much  argument  and  discussion  that  lasted  through 
the  afternoon,  they  went  in  to  the  little  old  dealer  about 
tea-time,  just  as  he  was  putting  a  blear-eyed,  stinking 
paraffin-lamp  to  throw  an  unfavorable  light  upon  his  always 
very  unattractive  window.  And  after  great  difficulty  they 
arranged  that  for  the  sum  of  one  shilling,  paid  in  advance, 
Hoskin  should  have  a  try  at  every  instrument  in  the  shop 
that  Briggs  chose  to  indicate. 

And  the  trial  began. 

The  third  instrument  that  was  pitched  upon  by  Briggs 
for  the  trial  was  the  strange  trumpet  that  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  the  window,  the  trumpet  that  you,  who  have  read  the 
Introduction,  know  was  the  trumpet  for  the  Last  Trump. 
And  Hoskin  tried  and  tried  again,  and  then,  blowing  des- 
perately, hurt  his  ears.  But  he  could  get  no  sound  from  the 
trumpet.  Then  he  examined  the  trumpet  more  carefully 
and  discovered  the  mice  and  fluff  and  other  things  in  it,  and 
demanded  that  it  should  be  cleaned ;  and  the  old  dealer, 
nothing  loath,  knowing  they  were  used  to  automobile-horns 
and  such-like  instruments,  agreed  to  let  them  clean  it  on  con- 
dition that  they  left  it  shiny.  So  the  young  men,  after 
making  a  suitable  deposit,  —  which,  as  you  shall  hear,  was 
presently  confiscated,  —  went  off  with  the  trumpet,  propos- 
ing to  clean  it  next  day  at  the  works  and  polish  it  with  the 
peculiarly  excellent  brass  polish  employed  upon  the  honk- 
honk  horns  of  the  firm.  And  this  they  did,  and  Hoskin 
tried  again. 

But  he  tried  in  vain.  Whereupon  there  arose  a  great  argu- 
ment about  the  trumpet,  whether  it  was  in  order  or  not, 
whether  it  was  possible  for  any  one  to  sound  it.  For  if  not, 
then  clearly  it  was  outside  the  condition  of  the  bet. 

Others  among  the  young  men  tried  it,  including  two  who 


ILLUSTRATIONS  265 

played  wind  instruments  in  a  band  and  were  musically 
knowing  men.  After  their  own  failure  they  were  strongly 
on  the  side  of  Hoskin  and  strongly  against  Briggs,  and  most 
of  the  other  young  men  were  of  the  same  opinion. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Briggs,  who  was  a  man  of  resource. 
"/'ll  show  you  that  it  can  be  sounded." 

And  taking  the  instrument  in  his  hand,  he  went  toward 
a  peculiarly  powerful  foot  blow-pipe  that  stood  at  the  far 
end  of  the  tool-shed.  "Good  old  Briggs!"  said  one  of  the 
other  young  men,  and  opinion  veered  about. 

Briggs  removed  the  blow-pipe  from  its  bellows  and  tube, 
and  then  adjusted  the  tube  very  carefully  to  the  mouthpiece 
of  the  trumpet.  Then  with  great  deliberation  he  produced 
a  piece  of  beeswaxed  string  from  a  number  of  other  strange 
and  filthy  contents  in  his  pocket,  and  tied  the  tube  to  the 
mouthpiece.  And  then  he  began  to  work  the  treadle  of  the 
bellows. 

"Good  old  Briggs!"  said  the  one  who  had  previously  ad- 
mired him. 

And  then  something  incomprehensible  happened. 

It  was  a  flash.  Whatever  else  it  was  it  was  a  flash.  And 
a  sound  that  seemed  to  coincide  exactly  with  the  flash. 

Afterward  the  young  men  agreed  to  it  that  the  trumpet 
blew  to  bits.  It  blew  to  bits  and  vanished,  and  they  were  all 
flung  upon  their  faces  —  not  backward,  be  it  noted,  but  on 
their  faces  —  and  Briggs  was  stunned  and  scared.  The 
tool-shed  windows  were  broken  and  the  various  apparatus 
and  cars  around  were  much  displaced,  and  no  traces  of  the 
trumpet  were  ever  discovered. 

That  last  particular  puzzled  and  perplexed  poor  Briggs 
very  much.  It  puzzled  and  perplexed  him  the  more  because 
he  had  had  an  impression  so  extraordinary,  so  incredible, 
that  he  was  never  able  to  describe  it  to  any  other  living 
person.     But  his  impression  was  this  :    that  the  flash  that 


266  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

came  with  the  sound  came  not  from  the  trumpet,  but  to  it, 
that  it  smote  down  to  it  and  took  it,  and  that  its  shape  was 
in  the  exact  likeness  of  a  hand  and  arm  of  fire. 


4 

And  that  was  not  all ;  that  was  not  the  only  strange  thing 
about  the  disappearance  of  that  battered  trumpet.  There 
was  something  else  even  more  difficult  to  describe,  an  effect 
as  though  for  one  instant  something  opened. 

The  young  men  who  worked  with  Hoskin  and  Briggs  had 
that  clearness  of  mind  which  comes  of  dealing  with  ma- 
chinery, and  all  felt  this  indescribable  something  else,  as  if 
for  an  instant  the  world  was  not  the  world,  but  something 
lit  and  wonderful,  larger. 

This  is  what  one  of  them  said  of  it. 

"I  felt,"  he  said,  "just  for  a  minute  as  though  I  was 
blown  to  kingdom  come." 

"It  is  just  how  it  took  me,"  said  another.  "'Lord,'  I 
says,  'here's  Judgement  Day!'  and  there  I  was  sprawling 
among  the  files.  .  .  ." 

But  none  of  the  others  felt  that  he  could  say  anything  more 
definite  than  that. 

5 

Moreover,  there  was  a  storm.  All  over  the  world  there 
was  a  storm  that  puzzled  meteorology,  a  moment's  gale  that 
left  the  atmosphere  in  a  state  of  wild  commotion,  rains, 
tornadoes,  depressions,  irregularities  for  weeks.  News 
came  of  it  from  all  the  quarters  of  the  earth. 

All  over  China,  for  example,  that  land  of  cherished  graves, 
there  was  a  dust-storm ;  dust  leaped  into  the  air.  A  kind 
of  earthquake  shook  Europe  —  an  earthquake  that  seemed 
to  have  at  heart  the  peculiar  interests  of  Mr.   Algernon 


ILLUSTRATIONS  267 

Ashton  :  everywhere  it  cracked  mausoleums  and  shivered 
the  pavements  of  cathedrals,  swished  the  flower-beds  of 
cemeteries,  and  tossed  tombstones  aside.  A  crematorium 
in  Texas  blew  up.  The  sea  was  greatly  agitated,  and  the 
beautiful  harbour  of  Sydney,  in  Australia,  was  seen  to  be 
littered  with  sharks  floating  upside  down  in  manifest  dis- 
tress. 

And  all  about  the  world  a  sound  was  heard  like  the  sound 
of  a  trumpet  instantly  cut  short. 


But  this  much  is  only  the  superficial  dressing  of  the  story. 
The  reality  is  something  different.  It  is  this :  that  in  an 
instant,  and  for  an  instant,  the  dead  lived,  and  all  that  are 
alive  in  the  world  did  for  a  moment  see  the  Lord  God  and 
all  His  powers,  His  hosts  of  angels,  and  all  His  array  looking 
down  upon  them.  They  saw  Him  as  one  sees  by  a  flash  of 
lightning  in  the  darkness,  and  then  instantly  the  world  was 
opaque  again,  limited,  petty,  habitual.  That  is  the  tre- 
mendous reality  of  this  story.  Such  glimpses  have  hap- 
pened in  individual  cases  before.  The  lives  of  the  saints 
abound  in  them.  Such  a  glimpse  it  was  that  came  to  Rabin- 
dranath  Tagore  upon  the  burning  ghat  at  Benares.  But 
this  was  not  an  individual  but  a  world  experience;  the  flash 
came  to  every  one.  Not  always  was  it  quite  the  same, 
and  thereby  the  doubter  found  his  denials  when  presently  a 
sort  of  discussion  broke  out  in  the  obscurer  Press.  For  this 
one  testified  that  it  seemed  that  "One  stood  very  near  to 
me,"  and  another  saw  "all  the  hosts  of  heaven  flame  up 
toward  the  Throne." 

And  there  were  others  who  had  a  vision  of  brooding 
watchers,  and  others  who  imagined  great  sentinels  before  a 
veiled  figure,  and  some  one  who  felt  nothing  more  divine 


268  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

than  a  sensation  of  happiness  and  freedom  such  as  one  gets 
from  a  sudden  burst  of  sunshine  in  the  spring.  ...  So 
that  one  is  forced  to  believe  that  something  more  than  won- 
derfully wonderful,  something  altogether  strange,  was  seen, 
and  that  all  these  various  things  that  people  thought  they 
saw  were  only  interpretations  drawn  from  their  experiences 
and  their  imaginations.  It  was  a  light,  it  was  beauty,  it 
was  high  and  solemn,  it  made  this  world  seem  a  flimsy 
transparency.  .  .  . 

Then  it  had  vanished.  .  .  . 

And  people  were  left  with  the  question  of  what  they  had 
seen,  and  just  how  much  it  mattered. 

7 

A  little  old  lady  sat  by  the  fire  in  a  small  sitting-room  in 
West  Kensington.  Her  cat  was  in  her  lap,  her  spectacles 
were  on  her  nose;  she  was  reading  the  morning's  paper, 
and  beside  her,  on  a  little  occasional  table,  was  her  tea  and  a 
buttered  muffin.  She  had  finished  the  crimes  and  she  was 
reading  about  the  Royal  Family.  When  she  had  read  all 
there  was  to  read  about  the  Royal  Family,  she  put  down  the 
paper,  deposited  the  cat  on  the  hearth-rug,  and  turned  to 
her  tea.  She  had  poured  out  her  first  cup  and  she  had 
just  taken  up  a  quadrant  of  muffin  when  the  trump  and 
the  flash  came.  Through  its  instant  duration  she  remained 
motionless  with  the  quadrant  of  muffin  poised  halfway  to 
her  mouth.     Then  very  slowly  she  put  the  morsel  down. 

"Now,  what  was  that?"  she  said. 

She  surveyed  the  cat,  but  the  cat  was  quite  calm.  Then 
she  looked  very,  very  hard  at  her  lamp.  It  was  a  patent 
safety-lamp,  and  had  always  behaved  very  well.  Then  she 
stared  at  the  window,  but  the  curtains  were  drawn,  and 
everything  was  in  order. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  269 

"One  might  think  I  was  going  to  be  ill,"  she  said,  and 
resumed  her  toast. 

8 

Not  far  away  from  this  old  lady,  not  more  than  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  at  most,  sat  Mr.  Parchester  in  his  luxurious 
study,  writing  a  perfectly  beautiful,  sustaining  sermon  about 
the  Need  of  Faith  in  God.  He  was  a  handsome,  earnest, 
modern  preacher,  he  was  rector  of  one  of  our  big  West  End 
churches,  and  he  had  amassed  a  large,  fashionable  congre- 
gation. Every  Sunday,  and  at  convenient  intervals  during 
the  week,  he  fought  against  Modern  Materialism,  Scientific 
Education,  Excessive  Puritanism,  Pragmatism,  Doubt, 
Levity,  Selfish  Individualism,  Further  Relaxation  of  the 
Divorce  Laws,  all  the  Evils  of  our  Time  —  and  anything 
else  that  was  unpopular.  He  believed  quite  simply,  he  said, 
in  all  the  old,  simple,  kindly  things.  He  had  the  face  of  a 
saint,  but  he  had  rendered  this  generally  acceptable  by 
growing  side-whiskers.  And  nothing  could  tame  the  beauty 
of  his  voice. 

He  was  an  enormous  asset  in  the  spiritual  life  of  the 
metropolis  —  to  give  it  no  harsher  name  —  and  his  fluent 
periods  had  restored  faith  and  courage  to  many  a  poor  soul 
hovering  on  the  brink  of  the  dark  river  of  thought.  .  .  . 

And  just  as  beautiful  Christian  maidens  played  a  won- 
derful part  in  the  last  days  of  Pompeii,  in  winning  proud 
Roman  hearts  to  a  hated  and  despised  faith,  so  Mr.  Par- 
chester's  naturally  graceful  gestures,  and  his  simple,  melo- 
dious, trumpet  voice  won  back  scores  of  our  half-pagan  rich 
women  to  church  attendance  and  the  social  work  of  which 
his  church  was  the  centre.  .  .  . 

And  now  by  the  light  of  an  exquisitely  shaded  electric  lamp 
he  was  writing  this  sermon  of  quiet,  confident  belief  (with 
occasional  hard  smacks,  perfect  stingers  in  fact,  at  current 


270  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

unbelief  and  rival  leaders  of  opinion),  in  the  simple,  divine 
faith  of  our  fathers.   .  .  . 

When  there  came  this  truncated  trump  and  this  vision.  .  .  . 

9 

Of  all  the  innumerable  multitudes  who  for  the  infinitesimal 
fraction  of  a  second  had  this  glimpse  of  the  Divinity,  none 
were  so  blankly  and  profoundly  astonished  as  Mr.  Par- 
chester.  For  —  it  may  be  because  of  his  subtly  spiritual 
nature  —  he  saw,  and  seeing  believed.  He  dropped  his 
pen  and  let  it  roll  across  his  manuscript,  he  sat  stunned, 
every  drop  of  blood  fled  from  his  face  and  his  lips  and  his 
eyes  dilated. 

While  he  had  just  been  writing  and  arguing  about  God, 
there  was  God ! 

The  curtain  had  been  snatched  back  for  an  instant.  It 
had  fallen  again;  but  his  mind  had  taken  a  photographic 
impression  of  everything  that  he  had  seen  —  the  grave 
presences,  the  hierarchy,  the  effulgence,  the  vast  concourse, 
the  terrible,  gentle  eyes.  He  felt  it,  as  though  the  vision 
still  continued,  behind  the  bookcases,  behind  the  pictured 
wall  and  the  curtained  window  :  even  now  there  was  judgement ! 

For  quite  a  long  time  he  sat,  incapable  of  more  than  ap- 
prehending this  supreme  realization.  His  hands  were  held 
out  limply  upon  the  desk  before  him.  And  then  very  slowly 
his  staring  eyes  came  back  to  immediate  things,  and  fell 
upon  the  scattered  manuscript  on  which  he  had  been 
engaged.  He  read  an  unfinished  sentence  and  slowly  re- 
covered its  intention.  As  he  did  so,  a  picture  of  his  congre- 
gation came  to  him  as  he  saw  it  from  the  pulpit  during  his 
evening  sermon,  as  he  had  intended  to  see  it  on  the  Sunday 
evening  that  was  at  hand,  with  Lady  Rupert  in  her  sitting 
and  Lady  Blex  in  hers  and  Mrs.  Munbridge,  the  rich  and 
in  her  Jewish  way  very  attractive  Mrs.  Munbridge,  running 


ILLUSTRATIONS  27 1 

them  close  in  her  adoration,  and  each  with  one  or  two  friends 
they  had  brought  to  adore  him,  and  behind  them  the  Hex- 
hams  and  the  Wassinghams  and  behind  them  others  and 
others  and  others,  ranks  and  ranks  of  people,  and  the  gal- 
leries on  either  side  packed  with  worshippers  of  a  less  dom- 
inant class,  and  the  great  organ  and  his  magnificent  choir 
waiting  to  support  him  and  supplement  him,  and  the  great 
altar  to  the  left  of  him,  and  the  beautiful  new  Lady  Chapel, 
done  by  Roger  Fry  and  Wyndham  Lewis  and  all  the  latest 
people  in  art,  to  the  right.  He  thought  of  the  listening 
multitude,  seen  through  the  haze  of  the  thousand  electric 
candles,  and  how  he  had  planned  the  paragraphs  of  his  dis- 
course so  that  the  notes  of  his  beautiful  voice  should  float 
slowly  down,  like  golden  leaves  in  autumn,  into  the  smooth 
tarn  of  their  silence,  word  by  word,  phrase  by  phrase,  until 
he  came  to  — 

"Now  to  God  the  Father,  God  the  Son " 

And  all  the  time  he  knew  that  Lady  Blex  would  watch 
his  face  and  Mrs.  Munbridge,  leaning  those  graceful  shoul- 
ders of  hers  a  little  forward,  would  watch  his  face.  .  .  . 

Many  people  would  watch  his  face. 

All  sorts  of  people  would  come  to  Mr.  Parchester's  ser- 
vices at  times.  Once  it  was  said  Mr.  Balfour  had  come. 
Just  to  hear  him.  After  his  sermons,  the  strangest  people 
would  come  and  make  confessions  in  the  beautifully  furnished 
reception-room  beyond  the  vestry.  All  sorts  of  people. 
Once  or  twice  he  had  asked  people  to  come  and  listen  to 
him;  and  one  of  them  had  been  a  very  beautiful  woman. 
And  often  he  had  dreamt  of  the  people  who  might  come : 
prominent  people,  influential  people,  remarkable  people. 
But  never  before  had  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Parchester  that,  a 
little  hidden  from  the  rest  of  the  congregation,  behind 
the  thin  veil  of  this  material  world,  there  was  another  audi- 
torium.    And  that  God  also,  God  also,  watched  his  face. 


272  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

And  watched  him  through  and  through. 

Terror  seized  upon  Mr.  Parchester. 

He  stood  up,  as  though  Divinity  had  come  into  the  room 
before  him.  He  was  trembling.  He  felt  smitten  and  about 
to  be  smitten. 

He  perceived  that  it  was  hopeless  to  try  to  hide  what  he 
had  written,  what  he  had  thought,  the  unclean  egotism  he 
had  become. 

"I  did  not  know,"  he  said  at  last. 

The  click  of  the  door  behind  him  warned  him  that  he 
was  not  alone.  He  turned,  and  saw  Miss  Skelton,  his  typist, 
for  it  was  her  time  to  come  for  his  manuscript  and  copy 
it  out  in  the  specially  legible  type  he  used.  For  a  moment 
he  stared  at  her  strangely. 

She  looked  at  him  with  those  deep,  adoring  eyes  of  hers : 
"Am  I  too  soon,  sir?"  she  asked  in  her  slow, unhappy 
voice,  and  seemed  prepared  for  a  noiseless  departure. 

He  did  not  answer  immediately.  Then  he  said:  "Miss 
Skelton,  the  Judgement  of  God  is  close  at  hand !" 

And  seeing  she  stood  perplexed,  he  said  — 

"Miss  Skelton,  how  can  you  expect  me  to  go  on  acting 
and  mouthing  this  Tosh  when  the  Sword  of  Truth  hangs 
over  us  ?" 

Something  in  her  face  made  him  ask  a  question. 

"Did  you  see  anything?"  he  asked. 

"I  thought  it  was  because  I  was  rubbing  my  eyes." 

"Then  indeed  there  is  a  God!  And  He  is  watching  us 
now.  And  all  this  about  us,  this  sinful  room,  this  foolish 
costume,  this  preposterous  life  of  blasphemous  pretension 


He  stopped  short,  with  a  kind  of  horror  on  his  face. 

With  a  hopeless  gesture  he  rushed  by  her.  He  appeared 
wild-eyed  upon  the  landing  before  his  man-servant,  who 
was  carrying  a  scuttle  of  coal  upstairs. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  273 

"Brompton,"  he  said,  "what  are  you  doing?" 

"Coal,  sir." 

"Put  it  down,  man!"  he  said.  "Are  you  not  an  im- 
mortal soul  ?  God  is  here !  As  close  as  my  hand  !  Re- 
pent!    Turn  to  Him!     The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at  hand  !" 


10 

Now  if  you  are  a  policeman  perplexed  by  a  sudden  and 
unaccountable  collision  between  a  taxicab  and  an  electric 
standard,  complicated  by  a  blinding  flash  and  a  sound  like 
an  abbreviated  trump  from  an  automobile  horn,  you  do  not 
want  to  be  bothered  by  a  hatless  clerical  gentleman  sud- 
denly rushing  out  of  a  handsome  private  house  and  telling 
you  that  "the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at  hand!"  You 
are  respectful  to  him  because  it  is  the  duty  of  a  policeman 
to  be  respectful  to  gentlemen,  but  you  say  to  him,  "  Sorry  I 
can't  attend  to  that  now,  sir.  One  thing  at  a  time.  I've 
got  this  little  accident  to  see  to."  And  if  he  persists  in 
dancing  round  the  gathering  crowd  and  coming  at  you  again, 
you  say :  "I'm  afraid  I  must  ask  you  just  to  get  away  from 
here,  sir.  You  aren't  being  an  'elp,  sir."  And  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  you  are  a  well-trained  clerical  gentleman,  who 
knows  his  way  about  in  the  world,  you  do  not  go  on  pes- 
tering a  policeman  on  duty  after  he  has  said  that,  even  al- 
though you  think  God  is  looking  at  you  and  Judgement  is 
close  at  hand.  You  turn  away  and  go  on,  a  little  damped, 
looking  for  some  one  else  more  likely  to  pay  attention  to 
your  tremendous  tidings. 

And  so  it  happened  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Parchester. 

He  experienced  a  curious  little  recession  of  confidence. 
He  went  on  past  quite  a  number  of  people  without  saying 
anything  further,  and  the  next  person  he  accosted  was  a 
flower-woman  sitting  by  her  basket  at  the  corner  of  Chexing- 


274  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

ton  Square.  She  was  unable  to  stop  him  at  once  when  he 
began  to  talk  to  her  because  she  was  tying  up  a  big  bundle 
of  white  chrysanthemums  and  had  an  end  of  string  behind 
her  teeth.  And  her  daughter  who  stood  beside  her  was 
the  sort  of  girl  who  wouldn't  say  "Bo!"  to  a  goose. 

"Do  you  know,  my  good  woman,"  said  Mr.  Parchester, 
"that  while  we  poor  creatures  of  earth  go  about  our  poor 
business  here,  while  we  sin  and  blunder  and  follow  every 
sort  of  base  end,  close  to  us,  above  us,  around  us,  watching 
us,  judging  us,  are  God  and  His  holy  angels  ?  I  have  had 
a  vision,  and  I  am  not  the  only  one.  I  have  seen.  We 
are  in  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  now  and  here,  and  Judgement 
is  all  about  us  now  !  Have  you  seen  nothing  ?  No  light  ? 
No  sound  ?     No  warning?" 

By  this  time  the  old  flower-seller  had  finished  her  bunch 
of  flowers  and  could  speak.  "I  saw  it,"  she  said.  "And 
Mary  —  she  saw  it." 

"Well?"  said  Mr.  Parchester. 

"But,  Lord!  It  don't  mean  nothing!"  said  the  old 
flower-seller. 

ii 

At  that  a  kind  of  chill  fell  upon  Mr.  Parchester.  He  went 
on  across  Chexington  Square  by  his  own  inertia. 

He  was  still  about  as  sure  that  he  had  seen  God  as  he  had 
been  in  his  study,  but  now  he  was  no  longer  sure  that  the 
world  would  believe  that  he  had.  He  felt  perhaps  that  this 
idea  of  rushing  out  to  tell  people  was  precipitate  and  inad- 
visable. Aft  •  all,  a  priest  in  the  Church  of  England  is  only 
one  unit  in  a  great  machine;  and  in  a  world-wide  spiritual 
crisis  it  should  be  the  task  of  that  great  machine  to  act  as 
one  resolute  body.  This  isolated  crying  aloud  in  the  street 
was  unworthy  of  a  consecrated  priest.  It  was  a  dissenting 
kind  of  thing  to  do.     A  vulgar  individualistic  screaming. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  275 

He  thought  suddenly  that  he  would  go  and  tell  his  bishop  — 
the  great  Bishop  Wampach.  He  called  a  taxicab,  and  within 
half  an  hour  he  was  in  the  presence  of  his  commanding 
officer.  It  was  an  extraordinarily  difficult  and  painful 
interview.  .  .  . 

You  see,  Mr.  Parchester  believed.  The  Bishop  impressed 
him  as  being  quite  angrily  resolved  not  to  believe.  And 
for  the  first  time  in  his  career  Mr.  Parchester  realized  just 
how  much  jealous  hostility  a  beautiful,  fluent,  and  popular 
preacher  may  arouse  in  the  minds  of  the  hierarchy.  It 
wasn't,  he  felt,  a  conversation.  It  was  like  flinging  oneself 
into  the  paddock  of  a  bull  that  has  long  been  anxious  to 
gore  one. 

"Inevitably,"  said  the  bishop,  "this  theatricalism,  this 
star-turn  business,  with  its  extreme  spiritual  excitements,  its 
exaggerated  soul  crises  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  leads  to  such 
a  breakdown  as  afflicts  you.  Inevitably !  You  were  at 
least  wise  to  come  to  me.  I  can  see  you  are  only  in  the 
beginning  of  your  trouble,  that  already  in  your  mind  fresh 
hallucinations  are  gathering  to  overwhelm  you,  voices,  special 
charges  and  missions,  strange  revelations.  ...  I  wish  I 
had  the  power  to  suspend  you  right  away,  to  send  you  into 
retreat.  .  .  ." 

Mr.  Parchester  made  a  violent  effort  to  control  himself. 
"But  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "that  I  saw  God!"  He  added, 
as  if  to  reassure  himself:  "More  plainly,  more  certainly, 
than  I  see  you." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  Bishop,  "this  is  how  strange  new 
sects  come  into  existence ;  this  is  how  false  prophets  spring 
out  of  the  bosom  of  the  Church.  Loose-minded,  excitable 
men  of  your  stamp " 

Mr.  Parchester,  to  his  own  astonishment,  burst  into 
tears.  "But  I  tell  you,"  he  wept,  "He  is  here.  I  have  seen. 
I  know." 


276  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

"Don't  talk  such  nonsense!"  said  the  Bishop.  "There 
is  no  one  here  but  you  and  I." 

Mr.  Parchester  expostulated.  "But,"  he  protested, 
"He  is  omnipresent." 

The  Bishop  controlled  an  expression  of  impatience.  "It 
is  characteristic  of  your  condition,"  he  said,  "that  you  are 
unable  to  distinguish  between  a  matter  of  fact  and  a  spiritual 
truth.  .  .  .  Now  listen  to  me.  If  you  value  your  sanity 
and  public  decency  and  the  discipline  of  the  Church,  go  right 
home  from  here  and  go  to  bed.  Send  for  Broadhays,  who 
will  prescribe  a  safe  sedative.  And  read  something  calming 
and  graceful  and  purifying.  For  my  own  part,  I  should  be  dis- 
posed to  recommend  the '  Life  of  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi.' "... 


12 

Unhappily  Mr.  Parchester  did  not  go  home.  He  went 
out  from  the  Bishop's  residence  stunned  and  amazed,  and 
suddenly  upon  his  desolation  came  the  thought  of  Mrs. 
Munbridge.  .  .  . 

She  would  understand.  .  .  . 

He  was  shown  up  to  her  own  little  sitting-room.  She 
had  already  gone  up  to  her  room  to  dress,  but  when  she 
heard  that  he  had  called,  and  wanted  very  greatly  to  see  her, 
she  slipped  on  a  loose,  beautiful  tea-gown,  neglige  thing, 
and  hurried  to  him.  He  tried  to  tell  her  everything,  but  she 
only  kept  saying  "There!  there!"  She  was  sure  he  wanted 
a  cup  of  tea,  he  looked  so  pale  and  exhausted.  She  rang  to 
have  the  tea  equipage  brought  back ;  she  put  the  dear  saint 
in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire;  she  put  cushions  about  him, 
and  ministered  to  him.  And  when  she  began  partially  to 
comprehend  what  he  had  experienced,  she  suddenly  realized 
that  she  too  had  experienced  it.  That  vision  had  been  a 
brain-wave    between    their    two    linked    and    sympathetic 


ILLUSTRATIONS  277 

brains.  And  that  thought  glowed  in  her  as  she  brewed  his 
tea  with  her  own  hands.  He  had  been  weeping !  How 
tenderly  he  felt  all  these  things  !  He  was  more  sensitive  than 
a  woman.  What  madness  to  have  expected  understanding 
from  the  Bishop  !  But  that  was  just  like  his  unworldliness. 
He  was  not  fit  to  take  care  of  himself.  A  wave  of  tenderness 
carried  her  away.  "Here  is  your  tea!"  she  said,  bending 
over  him,  and  fully  conscious  of  her  fragrant  warmth  and 
sweetness,  and  suddenly,  she  could  never  afterwards  explain 
why  she  was  so,  she  was  moved  to  kiss  him  on  his  brow.  .  .  . 

How  indescribable  is  the  comfort  of  a  true-hearted  womanly 
friend  !     The  safety  of  it !     The  consolation  !  .  .  . 

About  half-past  seven  that  evening  Mr.  Parchester  re- 
turned to  his  own  home,  and  Brompton  admitted  him. 
Brompton  was  relieved  to  find  his  employer  looking  quite 
restored  and  ordinary  again. 

"Brompton,"  said  Mr.  Parchester,  "I  will  not  have  the 
usual  dinner  to-night.  Just  a  single  mutton  cutlet  and 
one  of  those  quarter-bottles  of  Perrier  Jouet  on  a  tray  in  my 
study.     I  shall  have  to  finish  my  sermon  to-night." 

And  he  had  promised  Mrs.  Munbridge  he  would  preach 
that  sermon  specially  for  her. 

13 

And  as  it  was  with  Mr.  Parchester  and  Brompton  and 
Mrs.  Munbridge,  and  the  taxi-driver  and  the  policeman  and 
the  little  old  lady  and  the  automobile  mechanics  and  Mr. 
Parchester's  secretary  and  the  Bishop,  so  it  was  with  all  the 
rest  of  the  world.  If  a  thing  is  sufficiently  strange  and  great 
no  one  will  perceive  it.  Men  will  go  on  in  their  own  ways 
though  one  rose  from  the  dead  to  tell  them  that  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven  was  at  hand,  though  the  Kingdom  itself  and 
all    its    glory    became   visible,    blinding    their   eyes.     They 


278  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

and  their  ways  are  one.  Men  will  go  on  in  their  ways  as 
rabbits  will  go  on  feeding  in  their  hutches  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  a  battery  of  artillery.  For  rabbits  are  rabbits, 
and  made  to  eat  and  breed,  and  men  are  human  beings  and 
creatures  of  habit  and  custom  and  prejudice;  and  what  has 
made  them,  what  will  judge  them,  what  will  destroy  them  — 
they  may  turn  their  eyes  to  it  at  times  as  the  rabbits  will 
glance  at  the  concussion  of  the  guns,  but  it  will  never  draw 
them  away  from  eating  their  lettuce  and  sniffing  after 
their  does.  .  .  . 


ILLUSTRATIONS  279 

TWO  PLAYS1 

BY   ALFRED    SUTRO 

THE  MAN  ON  THE   KERB 

A  Duologue 

The  Persons  of  the  Play 

Joseph  Matthews 
Mary  (his  Wife) 

Time  —  The  present 

Scene  —  Their  home  in  the  West  End 

Scene  :  An  underground  room,  bare  of  any  furniture 
except  two  or  three  broken  chairs,  a  tattered  mattress  on 
the  stone  floor  and  an  old  trunk.  On  a  packing-chest 
are  a  few  pots  and  pans  and  a  kettle.  A  few  sacks  are 
spread  over  the  floor,  close  to  the  empty  grate ;  the  walls 
are  discoloured,  with  plentiful  signs  of  damp  oozing  through. 
Close  to  the  door,  at  back,  is  a  window,  looking  on  to  the 
area;  two  of  the  panes  are  broken  and  stuffed  with  paper. 
On  the  mattress  a  child  is  sleeping,  covered  with  a  tat- 
tered old  mantle;  Mary  is  bending  over  her,  crooning  a  song. 
The  woman  is  still  quite  young,  and  must  have  been  very 
pretty ;  but  her  cheeks  are  hollow  and  there  are  great  cir- 
cles round  her  eyes;  her  face  is  very  pale  and  bloodless. 
Her  dress  is  painfully  worn  and  shabby,  but  displays 
pathetic  attempts  at  neatness.  The  only  light  in  the  room 
comes  from  the  street  lamp  on  the  pavement  above. 

1  These  flays  have  been  copyrighted  in  America  by  the  author's  agents, 
Messrs.  Samuel  French  Ltd.,  26  Southampton  Street,  Strand,  to  whom  all  ap- 
plications for  production,  both  in  England  and  America,  should  be  addressed. 
Reprinted  here  by  the  special  permission  of  the  American  publishers  from 
the  volume  entitled  "Five  Little  Plays,"  Brentano's,  New  York,  1916. 


280  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

Joe  comes  down  the  area  steps,  and  enters.  His  clothes 
are  of  the  familiar  colourless,  shapeless  kind  one  sees  at 
street  corners ;  he  would  be  a  pleasant-looking  young  fel- 
low enough  were  it  not  that  his  face  is  abnormally  lined, 
and  pinched,  and  weather-beaten.  He  shambles  in,  with 
the  intense  weariness  of  a  man  who  has  for  hours  been 
forcing  benumbed  limbs  to  move;  he  shakes  himself,  on 
the  threshold,  dog-fashion,  to  get  rid  of  the  rain.  Mary 
first  makes  sure  that  the  child  is  asleep,  then  rises  eagerly 
and  goes  to  him.  Her  face  falls  as  she  notes  his  air  of  de- 
jection. 

Mary.    [Wistfully.]     Nothing,  Joe? 

Joe.  Nothing.     Not  a  farthing.     Nothing. 

[Mary  turns  away  and  checks  a  moan. 
Joe.    Nothing  at  all.     Same  as  yesterday  —  worse  than 
yesterday  —  I  did  bring  home  a  few  coppers  —  And  you  ? 

Mary.     A  lady  gave  Minnie  some  food 

Joe.     [Heartily.]     Bless  her  for  that ! 

Mary.     Took  her  into  the  pastrycook's,  Joe 


Joe.  And  the  kiddie  had  a  tuck-out  ?  Thank  God ! 
And  you  ? 

Mary.     Minnie  managed  to  hide  a  great  big  bun  for  me. 

Joe.     The  lady  didn't  give  you  anything  ? 

Mary.  Only  a  lecture,  Joe,  for  bringing  the  child  out 
on  so  bittter  a  day. 

Joe.  [With  a  sour  laugh,  as  he  sits  on  a  chair.]  Ho,  ho ! 
Always  so  ready  with  their  lectures,  aren't  they  ?  "  Shouldn't 
beg,  my  man!  Never  give  to  beggars  in  the  street!"  — 
Look  at  me,  I  said  to  one  of  them.  Feel  my  arm.  Tap 
my  chest.  I  tell  you  I'm  starving,  and  they're  starving  at 
home.  —  "Never  give  to  beggars  in  the  street." 

Mary.     [Laying  a  hand  on  his  arm.]     Oh,  Joe,  you're  wet ! 

Joe.     It's  been  raining  hard  the  last  three  hours  —  pour- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  28 1 

ing.  My  stars,  it's  cold.  Couldn't  we  raise  a  bit  of  fire, 
Mary  ? 

Mary.     With  what,  Joe  ? 

Joe.  [After  a  look  round,  suddenly  getting  up,  seizing  a 
ricketty  chair  by  the  wall,  breaking  off  the  legs.]  With  this ! 
Wonderful  fine  furniture  they  give  you  on  the  Hire  System  — 
so  solid  and  substantial  —  as  advertised.  [He  breaks  the 
flimsy  thing  up,  as  he  speaks.]  And  to  think  we  paid  for  this 
muck,  in  the  days  we  were  human  beings  —  paid  about 
three  times  its  value  !  And  to  think  of  the  poor  devils,  poor 
devils  like  us,  who  sweated  their  life-blood  out  to  make  it  — 
and  of  the  blood-sucking  devils  who  sold  it  and  got  fat  on 
it  —  and  now  back  it  goes  to  the  devil  it  came  from,  and 
we  can  at  least  get  warm  for  a  minute.  [He  crams  the  wood 
into  the  grate.]     Got  any  paper,  Mary  ? 

Mary.  [Taking  an  old  newspaper  from  the  trunk.]  Here, 
Joe. 

Joe.  That  will  help  to  build  up  a  fire.  [He  glances  at  it, 
then  lays  it  carefully  underneath  the  wood.  Mary  gets  lamp 
from  table.]  The  Daily  Something  or  other  —  that  tells 
the  world  what  a  happy  people  we  are  —  how  proud  of  be- 
longing to  an  Empire  on  which  the  sun  never  sets.  And 
I'd  sell  Gibraltar  to-night  for  a  sausage  with  mashed  potatoes, 
and  let  Russia  take  India  if  some  one  would  give  me  a  clerk- 
ship at  a  pound  a  week.  —  There,  in  you  go !  A  match, 
Mary  ? 

Mary.  [Standing  above  Joe,  handing  him  one.]  Oh, 
Joe,  be  careful  —  we've  only  two  left ! 

Joe.  I'll  be  careful.  Wait,  though  —  I'll  see  whether 
there's  a  bit  of  tobacco  still  in  my  pipe.  [He  fishes  the  pipe 
out  of  his  pocket.]  A  policeman  who  warned  me  away  from 
the  kerb  gave  me  some  tobacco.  "Mustn't  beg,"  he  said. 
"Got  a  pipe?  Well,  here's  some  tobacco."  I  believe  he'd 
have  given  me  money.     But  it  was  the  first  kind  word  I 


282  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

had  heard  all  day,  and  it  choked  me.  —  There's  just  a  bit 
left  at  the  bottom.  [He  bustles.]  Now,  first  the  fire.  [He 
puts  the  match  to  the  paper  —  it  kindles.]  And  then  my  pipe. 
[  The  fire  burns  up ;  he  throws  himself  in  front  of  it.]  Boo-o-oh, 
I'm  sizzling.  ...  I  got  so  wet  that  I  felt  the  water  running 
into  my  lungs  —  my  feet  didn't  seem  to  belong  to  me  —  and 
as  for  my  head  and  nose!  [Yawns.]  Well,  smoke's  good  — 
by  the  powers,  I'm  getting  warm  —  come  closer  to  it,  Mary. 
It's  a  little  after  midnight  now  —  and  I  left  home,  this  fine, 
luxurious  British  home,  just  as  soon  as  it  was  light.  And 
I've  tramped  the  streets  all  day.  Net  result,  a  policeman 
gave  me  a  pipeful  of  tobacco,  I  lunched  off  a  bit  of  bread  that 
I  saw  floating  down  the  gutter  —  and  I  dined  off  the  kitchen 
smell  of  the  Cafe  Royal.     That's  my  day. 

Mary.     [Stroking  his  hand.]     Poor  boy,  poor  boy ! 

Joe.  I  stood  for  an  hour  in  Leicester  Square  when  the 
theatres  emptied,  thinking  I  might  earn  a  copper,  calling 
a  cab,  or  something.  There  they  were,  all  streaming  out, 
happy  and  clean   and  warm  —  broughams  and  motor-cars 

—  supper  at  the  Savoy  and  the  Carlton  —  and  a  hundred  or 
two  of  us  others  in  the  gutter,  hungry  —  looking  at  them. 
They  went  off  to  their  supper  —  it  was  pouring,  and  I  got 
soaked  —  and  there  I  stood,  dodging  the  policemen,  dodging 
the  horses'  heads  and  the  motors  —  and  it  was  always  — 

get  away,  you  loafer,  get  away  —  get  away  —  get  away 

l_  Mary.     We've  done  nothing  to  deserve  it,  Joe 

Joe.  [With  sudden  fury.]  Deserve  it !  What  have  I 
ever  done  wrong !  Wasn't  my  fault  the  firm  went  bankrupt 
and  I  couldn't  get  another  job.     I've  a  first-rate  character 

—  I'm  respectable  —  what's  the  use  ?  I  want  to  work  — 
they  won't  let  me  ! 

Mary.  That  illness  of  mine  ate  up  all  our  savings.  O 
Joe,  I  wish  I  had  died  ! 

Joe.     And    left    me    alone  ?     That's    not    kind    of    you, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  283 

Mary.  How  about  Mrs.  Willis  ?  Is  she  worrying  about 
the  rent? 

Mary.  Well,  she'd  like  to  have  it,  of  course  —  they're 
so  dreadfully  poor  themselves  —  but  she  says  she  won't 
turn  us  out.  And  I'm  going  to-morrow  to  her  daughter's 
upstairs  —  she  makes  matchboxes,  you  know  —  and  I  don't 
see  why  I  shouldn't  try  —  I  could  earn  nearly  a  shilling  a  day. 

Joe.  A  shilling  a  day !  Princely !  [His  pipe  goes  out. 
He  takes  a  last  puff  at  it,  squints  into  it  to  make  sure  all  the 
tobacco  is  gone,  then  lays  it  down  with  a  sigh.]  I  reckon  /'ll 
try  making  'em  too.  I  went  to  the  Vestry  again,  this  morn- 
ing, to  see  whether  they'd  take  me  as  sweeper  —  but  they've 
thirty  names  down,  ahead  of  me.  I've  tried  chopping  wood, 
but  I  can't  —  I  begin  to  cough  the  third  stroke  —  there's 
something  wrong  with  me  inside,  somewhere.  I've  tried 
every  Institution  on  God's  earth  —  and  there  are  others 
before  me,  and  there  is  no  vacancy,  and  I  mustn't  beg, 
and  I  mustn't  worry  the  gentlemen.  A  shilling  a  day  — 
can  one  earn  as  much  as  that !  Why,  Mary,  that  will  be 
fourteen  shillings  a  week  —  an  income  !     We'll  do  it ! 

Mary.  It's  not  quite  a  shilling,  Joe  —  you  have  to  find 
your  own  paste  and  odds  and  ends.  And  of  course  it  takes 
a  few  weeks  to  learn,  before  you  begin  to  make  any  money. 

Joe.  [Crestfallen.]  Does  it  though  ?  And  what  are  we 
going  to  do,  those  few  weeks  ?  I  thought  there  was  a  catch 
in  it,  somewhere.  [He  gets  up  and  stretches  himself.]  Well, 
here's  a  free-born  Englishman,  able  to  conduct  correspond- 
ence in  three  languages,  bookkeeping  by  double  entry, 
twelve  years'  experience  —  and  all  he's  allowed  to  do  is  to 
starve.     [He  stretches  himself  again.] 

But  in  spite  of  all  temptations 
To  belong  to  other  nations 


[With  sudden  passion.]     God  !     I  wish  I  were  a  Zulu  ! 


284  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND  IMAGINATION 

Mary.     [Edging  to  him.]     Joe 

Joe.     [Turning],     Well? 

Mary.     Joe,  Joe,  we've  tried  very  hard,  haven't  we  ? 

Joe.  Tried !  Is  there  a  job  in  this  world  we'd  refuse  ? 
Is  there  anything  we'd  turn  up  our  nose  at  ?  Is  there  any 
chance  we've  neglected  ? 

Mary.  [Stealing  nervously  to  hint  and  laying  a  hand  on 
his  arm.]     Joe 

Joe.  [Raising  his  head  and  looking  at  her.]  Yes  —  what 
is  it  ?  [She  stands  timidly  with  downcast  eyes.]  Well  ?  Out 
with  it,  Mary ! 

Mary.     [Suddenly.]     It's  this,  Joe. 

[She  goes  feverishly  to  the  mattress,  and  from  underneath 
it  she  pulls  out  a  big,  fat  purse  which  she  hands 
him. 

Joe.     [Staring.]     A  purse ! 

Mary.     [Nodding.]     Yes. 

Joe.     You 

Mary.     Found  it. 

Joe.     [Looking  at  her.]     Found  ? 

Mary     [Awkwardly.]     In  a  way  I  did  —  yes. 

Joe.     How  ? 

Mary.  It  came  on  to  rain,  Joe  —  and  I  went  into  a 
Tube  Station  —  and  was  standing  by  a  bookstall,  showing 
Minnie  the  illustrated  papers  —  and  an  old  lady  bought 
one  —  and  she  took  out  her  purse  —  this  purse  —  and  paid 
for  it  —  and  laid  the  purse  on  the  board  while  she  fumbled 
to  pick  up  her  skirts  —  and  then  some  one  spoke  to  her  — 
a  friend,  I  suppose  —  and  —  there  were  lots  of  people  stand- 
ing about  —  I  don't  know  how  it  was  —  I  was  out  in  the 
street,  with  Minnie 

Joe.     You  had  the  purse  ? 

Mary.     Yes 

Joe.     No  one  followed  you  ? 


ILLUSTRATIONS  285 

Mary.     No  one.     I  couldn't  run,  as  I  had  to  carry  Minnie. 

Joe.     What  made  you  do  it? 

Mary.  I  don't  know  —  something  in  me  did  it  — 
She  put  the  purse  down  just  by  the  side  of  my  hand  — 
my  fingers  clutched  it  before  I  knew  —  and  I  was  out  in  the 
street. 

Joe.     How  much  is  there  in  it  ? 

Mary.     I  haven't  looked,  Joe. 

Joe.     [Wondering.]     You  haven't  looked  ? 

Mary.     No  ;   I  didn't  dare. 

Joe.  [Sorrowfully.]  I  didn't  think  we'd  come  to  this, 
Mary. 

Mary.  [Desperately.]  We've  got  to  do  something.  Be- 
fore we  can  earn  any  money  at  making  matchboxes  we'll 
have  to  spend  some  weeks  learning.  And  you've  not  had 
a  decent  meal  for  a  month  —  nor  have  I.  If  there's  money 
inside  this  purse  you  can  get  some  clothes  —  and  for  me  too 

—  I  need  them  !  It's  not  as  though  the  old  lady  would 
miss  it  —  she's  rich  enough  —  her  cloak  was  real  sable  — 
and  no  one  can  find  us  out  —  they  can't  tell  one  piece  of 
money  from  the  other.  It's  heavy,  Joe  —  I  think  there's 
a  lot  inside. 

Joe.     [Weighing  it  mechanically.]     Yes  —  it's  heavy 

Mary.     [Eagerly.]     Open  it,  Joe. 

Joe.     [Turning  to  her  again.]     Why  didn't  you  ? 

Mary.  I  just  thought  I'd  wait  —  I'd  an  idea  something 
might  have  happened ;  that  some  one  might  have  stopped 
you  in  the  street,  some  one  with  a  heart  —  and  that  he'd 
have  come  in  with  you  to-night  —  and  seen  us  —  seen  Minnie 

—  and  said  —  "Well,  here's  money  —  I'll  put  you  on  your 
legs  again"  —  And  then  we'd  have  given  the  purse  back, 
Joe. 

Joe.  [As  he  still  mechanically  balances  it  in  his  hand.] 
Yes. 


286  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Mary.  Can't  go  on  like  this,  can  we  ?  You'll  cough  all 
night  again,  as  you  did  yesterday  —  and  the  stuff  they  gave 
you  at  the  Dispensary's  no  good.  If  you  had  clothes,  you 
might  get  some  sort  of  a  job  perhaps  —  you  know  you  had 
to  give  up  trying  because  you  were  so  shabby. 
Joe.  They  laugh  at  me. 
Mary.     [With  a  glance  at  herself.]     And  I'm  really  ashamed 

to  walk  through  the  streets 

Joe.     I  know  —  though  I'm  getting  used  to  it.     Besides, 
there's  the  kiddie.     Let's  have  a  look  at  her. 
Mary.     Be  careful  you  don't  wake  her,  Joe ! 
Joe.     There's  a  fire. 
Mary.     She'll  be  hungry. 
Joe.     You  said  that  she  had  some  food  ? 
Mary.     That  was   at   three   o'clock.     And   little   things 
aren't   like   us  —  they    want    their    regular    meals.     Night 
after  night  she  has  been  hungry,  and  I've  had  nothing  to 
give  her.     That's  why  I  took  the  purse. 

Joe.  [Still  holding  it  mechanically  and  staring  at  it.]  Yes. 
And,  after  all,  why  not  ? 

Mary.     We  can   get   the  poor  little   thing  some  warm 

clothes,  some  good  food 

Joe.     [Under  his  breath.]     A  thief's  daughter. 

[Covers  his  face  with  his  hands. 
Mary.     Joe ! 

Joe.  Not  nice,  is  it  ?  Can't  be  helped,  of  course.  And 
who  cares  ?  For  three  months  this  game  has  gone  on  — 
we  getting  shabbier,  wretcheder,  hungrier  —  no  one  bothers 
—  all  they  say  is  "keep  off  the  pavement."  Let's  see  what's 
in  the  purse. 

Mary.     [Eagerly.]     Yes,  yes ! 

Joe.  [Lifting  his  head  as  he  is  on  the  point  of  opening  the 
purse.]     That's  the  policeman  passing. 

Mary.     [Impatiently.]     Never  mind  that 


ILLUSTRATIONS  287 

Joe.  [Turning  to  the  purse  again.]  First  time  in  my 
life  I've  been  afraid  when  I  heard  the  policeman. 

[He  has  his  finger  on  the  catch  of  the  purse  when  he 
pauses  for  a  moment  —  then  acting  on  a  sudden 
impulse,  makes  a  dart  for  the  door,  opens  it,  and 
is  out,  and  up  the  area  steps. 
Mary.     [With  a  despairing  cry.]     Joe  ! 

[She  flings  herself  on  the  mattress,  and  sobs  silently, 
so  as  not  to  awaken  the  child.     Joe  returns,  hang- 
ing his  head,  dragging  one  foot  before  the  other. 
Mary.     [Still  sobbing,  but  trying  to  control  herself.]     Why- 
did  you  do  that  ? 

Joe.     [Humbly.]     I  don't  know 

Mary.     You  gave  it  to  the  policeman  ? 
Joe.     Yes. 

Mary.     What  did  you  tell  him  ? 
Joe.     That  you  had  found  it. 
Mary.     Where  ? 

Joe.  In  a  Tube  Station.  Picked  it  up  because  we  were 
starving.  That  we  hadn't  opened  it.  And  that  we  lived 
here,  in  this  cellar. 

Mary.     [With  a  little  shake.]     I  expect  he'll  keep  it  himself ! 
Joe.     [Miserably.]     Perhaps. 

[There  is  silence  for  a  moment;  she  has  ceased  to  cry  ; 
suddenly  she  raises  herself  violently  on  her  elbow. 
Mary.     You  fool !     You  fool ! 
Joe.     [Pleading.]     Mary ! 

Mary.  With  your  stupid  ideas  of  honesty !  What  have 
they  done  for  you,  or  me  ? 

Joe.     [Dropping   his   head  again.]     It's    the   kiddie,   you 

know  —  her  being  a  thief's  daughter 

Mary.  Is  that  worse  than  being  the  daughter  of  a  pair 
of  miserable  beggars  ? 

Joe.     [Under  his  breath.]     I  suppose  it  is,  somehow 


288  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Mary.     You'd  rather  she  went  hungry  ? 

Joe.  [Despairingly.]  I  don't  know  how  it  was  —  hear- 
ing his  tramp  up  there 

Mary.     You  were  afraid  ? 

Joe.     I  don't  want  you  taken  to  prison. 

Mary.  [With  a  wail.]  I'll  be  taken  to  the  graveyard 
soon,  in  a  pauper's  coffin  ! 

Joe.     [Starts  suddenly.]     Suppose  we  did  that  ? 

Mary.     [Staring.]     The  workhouse  ? 

Joe.  Why  not,  after  all  ?  That's  what  it  will  come  to, 
sooner  or  later. 

Mary.     They'd  separate  us. 

Joe.     At  least  you  and  the  kiddie'd  have  food. 

Mary.  They'd  separate  us.  And  I  love  you,  Joe. 
My  poor,  poor  Joe !     I  love  you. 

[She  nestles  up  to  him  and  takes  his  hand. 

Joe.  [Holding  her  hand  in  his,  and  bending  over  her.] 
You  forgive  me  for  returning  the  purse  ? 

Mary.  [Dropping  her  head  on  his  shoulder.]  Forgive 
you  !  You  were  right.  It  was  the  cold  and  the  hunger 
maddened  me.     You  were  right! 

Joe.  [Springing  to  his  feet,  with  sudden  passion.  Mary 
staggers  back.]  I  wasn't  right  —  I  was  a  coward,  a  criminal 
—  a  vile  and  wicked  fool. 

Mary.     [Startled.]     Joe ! 

Joe.  I  had  money  there  —  money  in  my  hand  —  money 
that  you  need  so  badly,  you,  the  woman  I  love  with  all  my 
ragged  soul  —  money  that  would  have  put  food  into  the 
body  of  my  little  girl  —  money  that  was  mine,  that  belonged 
to  me  —  and  I've  given  it  back,  because  of  my  rotten  hon- 
esty !  What  right  have  I  to  be  honest  ?  They've  made  a 
dog  of  me  —  what  business  had  I  to  remember  I  was  a  man  ? 
Mary.  [Following  him  and  laying  a  hand  on  his  arm.] 
Hush,  Joe  —  you'll  wake  Minnie. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  289 

Joe.  [Turning  and  staring  haggardly  at  her.]  I  could 
have  got  clothes  —  a  job,  perhaps  —  we  might  have  left  this 
cellar.     We  could  have  gone  out  to-morrow  and  bought  things 

—  gone  into  shops  —  we  might  have  had  food,  coal 

Mary.     Don't,  Joe  —  what's  the  use  ?     And  who  knows 

—  it  may  prove  a  blessing  to  us.     You  told  the  policeman 
where  we  lived  ? 

Joe.  A  blessing!  I'll  get  up  to-morrow,  after  having 
coughed  out  my  lungs  all  night  —  and  I'll  go  into  the  streets 
and  walk  there  from  left  to  right  and  from  right  to  left,  stand- 
ing at  this  corner  and  at  that,  peering  into  men's  faces,  watch- 
ing people  go  to  their  shops  and  their  offices,  people  who  are 
warm  and  comfortable  —  and  so  it  will  go  on,  till  the  end 
comes. 

Mary.  [Standing  very  close  to  him,  almost  in  a  whisper.] 
Why  not  now,  Joe  ? 

Joe.     [With  a  startled  glance  at  her.]     The  end  ? 

Mary.     There's  no  room  for  us  in  this  world 

Joe.     If  I'd  taken  that  money 

Mary.  It's  too  late  for  that  now.  And  I'm  glad  you 
didn't  —  yes,  I  am  —  I'm  glad.  We'll  go  before  God  clean- 
handed. And  we'll  say  to  Him  we  didn't  steal,  or  do  any- 
thing He  didn't  want  us  to.  And  we'll  tell  Him  we've 
died  because  people  wouldn't  allow  us  to  live. 

Joe.  [With  a  shudder.]  No.  Not  that  —  we'll  wait, 
Mary.     Don't  speak  of  that. 

Mary.     [Wistfully.]      You've  thought  of  it  too  ? 

Joe.  Thought  of  it!  Don't,  Mary,  don't!  It's  bad 
enough,  in  the  night,  when  I  lie  there  and  think  of  to-mor- 
row !     Something  will  happen  —  it  must. 

Mary.     What?     We  haven't  a  friend  in  the  world. 

Joe.     I  may  meet  some  one  I  used  to  know. 

Mary.     You've  met  them  before  —  they  always  refuse 

Joe.  [Passionately.]  I've  done  nothing  wrong  —  I 
v 


29O  FACTS,  THOUGHT,   AND   IMAGINATION 

haven't  drunk  or  gambled  —  I  can't  help  being  only  a  clerk, 
and  unable  to  do  heavy  work !  I  can't  help  my  lungs  being 
weak !  I've  a  wife  and  a  child,  like  other  people  —  and  all 
we  ask  is  to  be  allowed  to  live ! 

Mary.  [Pleading.]  Let's  give  it  up,  Joe.  Go  away  to- 
gether, you'd  sleep  without  coughing.  Sleep,  that's  all. 
And  God  will  be  kinder  than  men. 

Joe.     [Groaning.]     Don't,  Mary  —  don't ! 

Mary.  Joe,  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer  —  I  can't.  Not 
only  myself  —  but  Minnie  —  Joe,  it's  too  much  for  me  ! 
I  can't  stand  Minnie  crying,  and  asking  me  for  her  break- 
fast, as  she  will  in  the  morning.  Joe,  dear  Joe,  let  there 
be  no  morning ! 

Joe.     [Completely  overcome.]     Oh,  Alary,  Mary  ! 

Mary.  It's  not  your  fault,  dear  —  you've  done  what 
you  could.  Not  your  fault  they  won't  let  you  work  — 
you've  tried  hard  enough.  And  no  woman  ever  had  a 
better  husband  than  you've  been  to  me.  I  love  you,  dear 
Joe.  And  let's  do  it  —  let's  make  an  end.  And  take  Min- 
nie with  us. 

Joe.  [Springing  up.]  Mary,  I'll  steal  something  to- 
morrow. 

Mary.  And  they'd  send  you  to  prison.  Besides,  then 
God  would  be  angry.  Now  we  can  go  to  Him  and  need  not 
be  ashamed.     Let  us,'dear  Joe  —  oh,  do  let  us  !     I'm  so  tired! 

Joe.     No. 

Mary.     [Sorrowfully.]     You  won't  ? 

Joe.     [Doggedly.]     No.     We'll  go  to  the  workhouse. 

Mary.     You've  seen  them  in  there,  haven't  you  ? 

Joe.     Yes. 

Mary.  You've  seen  them  standing  at  the  window, 
staring  at  the  world  ?     And  they'd  take  you  away  from  me. 

Joe.     That's  better  than 

Mary.     [Firmly.]     I  won't  do  it,  Joe.     I've  been  a  good 


ILLUSTRATIONS  29 1 

wife  to  you  —  I've  been  a  good  mother :  and  I  love  you, 
though  I'm  ragged  and  have  pawned  all  my  clothes;  and 
I'll  strangle  myself  rather  than  go  to  the  workhouse  and 
be  shut  away  from  you. 

Joe.  [With  a  loud  cry.]  No !  I'll  make  them  give  me 
something ;  and  if  I  have  to  kill,  it  shan't  be  my  wife  and 
child  !     To-morrow  I'll  come  home  with  food  and  money  — 

to-morrow 

[There  is  a  sudden  wail  from  the  child;    Joe  stops 
and  stares  at  her ;  Mary  goes  quickly  to  the  mat- 
tress and  soothes  the  little  girl. 
Mary.     Hush,   dear,    hush  —  no,    it's   not   morning   yet, 
not   time   for   breakfast.     Go    to   sleep    again,    dear.     Yes, 
daddy's  come  back,  and  things  are  going  to  be  all  right  now 
—  No,  dear,  you  can't  be  hungry,  really  —  remember  those 
beautiful  cakes.     Go  to  sleep,  Minnie,  dear.     You're  cold  ? 
[She  takes  off  her  ragged  shawl  and  wraps  it  round  the  child.] 

There,  dear,  you  won't  be  cold  now.     Go  to  sleep,  Minnie 

[The  child's  wail  dies  away,  as  Mary  soothes  her 
back  to  sleep. 
Joe.     [Staggering  forward  with   a   sudden   cry.]     God,    O 
God,  give  us  bread  ! 

THE    CURTAIN    SLOWLY    FALLS 


THE  BRACELET 

A  Play   in  One  Act 

The  Persons  of  the  Play 

Harvey  Western 

His  Honour  Judge  Banket 

Martin 

William 

Mrs.  Western 

Mrs.  Banket 

Miss  Farren 

Smithers 

Time  —  The  present 

The  dining-room  in  an  upper  middle-class  house  near  the 
Park.  It  is  furnished  in  the  conventional  modern  style, 
soberly  and  without  imagination.  The  room  is  on  the  ground 
floor,  facing  the  street;  the  door  is  to  the  right,  and  leads 
into  the  hall.  To  the  left  of  this  door  is  a  sideboard,  glit- 
tering with  silver.  Three  tall  windows,  at  the  back,  heavily 
curtained;  between  them  hang  two  or  three  family  por- 
traits. The  table,  on  which  there  is  the  usual  debris  of  a 
meal  that  is  over  —  coffee-cups,  liqueur-glasses,  etc.  — 
has  been  laid  for  four  persons,  and  their  four  chairs  are 
still  around  it.  The  fireplace,  with  its  rather  crude  and 
ambitious  mantelpiece,  is  in  the  centre  of  the  left  wall; 
and  uncomfortable-looking  heavy  armchairs  are  on  each 
side  of  it.  On  the  mantelpiece  are  a  marble  clock  and  a 
few  bits  of  china.     In  the  angle  formed  at  the  left  side  is  a 

292 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

small  Queen  Anne  writing-table,  open.     To  ihJ 

the  room  is  a  large  sofa.     The  floor  is  heavily  carpc. 

and  there  are  many  rugs  scattered  about. 

When  the  curtain  rises,  the  room  is  in  darkness. 
William,  the  footman,  enters  hurriedly  and  switches  on  the 
electric  light.  He  rushes  to  the  table,  looks  eagerly  around, 
shifting  cups  and  glasses,  napkins,  etc.,  then  goes  on  his 
hands  and  knees  and  searches  on  the  carpet.  After  a  mo- 
ment, Smithers,  the  lady's-maid,  follows  him. 

Smithers.     [Eagerly.]     Can't  you  find  it? 

William.     [Sulkily.]     No.    Not  yet.     Give  me  time. 

Smithers.  [Feeling  along  the  table-cloth.]  Under  one  of 
those  rugs,  perhaps. 

William.  Well,  I'm  looking.  [Motor-horn  sounds  sharply, 
off.]     All  right,  all  right ! 

Smithers.  [With  a  jerk  of  the  head.]  Missis  is  telling 
him  to  do  it. 

William.  [On  all  fours,  crawling  about.]  Very  like  her 
voice,  too,  when  she's  angry.  Drat  the  thing !  Where  can 
it  be  ? 

[He  peers  into  the  coal-scuttle. 

Smithers.     No  good  looking  in  there,  stupid. 

William.     They  always  say  it's  the  unlikeliest  places 

[Martin,  the  butler,  comes  in. 

Martin.     Come,  come,  haven't  you  found  it  ? 

William.     No,  Mr.  Martin.     It  ain't  here. 

Martin.  [Bustling  about.]  Must  be,  must  be.  She 
says 


William.     I  can't  help  what  she  says.     It  ain't. 
Martin.     [Looking  under  the  sofa.]        Just  you    hustle, 
young  man,  and  don't  give  me  any  back-answers. 

[Having  completed  his  examination  of  the  sofa,  he 
moves  to  the  sideboard,  and  fusses  round  that. 


294  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Smith ers.  [Methodically  shaking  out  each  napkin.]  I 
tell  you  she's  cross. 

Martin.  [Hard  at  work,  searching.]  Doesn't  mind  dis- 
turbing us,  in  the  midst  of  our  supper ! 

William.  [Who,  all  the  time,  has  been  on  all  fours  search- 
ing.]    We're  dirt,  that's  what  we  are  —  dirt. 

Martin.    [Reprovingly.]   William,  I've  told  you  before 

William.  Very  sorry,  Mr.  Martin,  but  this  is  the  first 
time  I've  accepted  an  engagement  at  a  stockbroker's.  [He 
has  been  crawling  round  the  curtains  at  the  back,  shaking  them; 
pulling  hard  at  one  of  them  he  dislodges  the  lower  part.]  Lor ! 
Now  I've  done  it! 

Smithers.     Clumsy ! 

Martin.  [Severely.]  That  comes  of  too  much  talk. 
Never  mind  the  curtain  —  go  on  looking. 

[William  drops  on  to  his  hands  and  knees  again; 
Harvey  Western  comes  into  the'  room,  per- 
turbed and  restless.  He  is  a  well-preserved  man 
of  fifty. 

Harvey.     I  say  —  not  found  it  ? 

Martin.     Not  yet,  sir. 

Harvey.     Nuisance.     Must  be  here,  you  know. 

Martin.     Is  it  a  very  valuable  one,  sir  ? 

Harvey.  [Who  has  gone  to  the  table,  and  is  turning  things 
over.]     No,  no,  not  particularly  —  but  that's  not  the  point. 

[He  looks  under  the  table. 

Martin.  [Still  seeking.]  When  did  madam  find  that 
she'd  lost  it,  sir  ? 

Harvey.  Oh,  about  five  minutes  after  we'd  started. 
And  we've  turned  over  everything  in  the  car.  It's  certainly 
not  there.  [He  fusses  around  the  table. 

Martin.     Is  madam  quite  sure  she  was  wearing  it,  sir? 

Smithers.  [Fretfully.]  Yes,  yes,  of  course  she  was  wear- 
ing it.     I  put  it  on  her  myself. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  295 

Martin.     Where  did  madam  put  her  cloak  on,  sir  ? 
Smithers.     In  here.     I  brought  it  in. 

Martin.     You  didn't  notice  whether 

Smithers.     No.     Don't  you  think  if  we  moved  all  the 

rugs 

[She  moves  across  the  room  and  joins  William,  who 
is  still  grovelling  on  the  floor,  and  goes  on  her 
knees  by  his  side. 
Harvey.     It  must  be  here  somewhere. 

[They  are  all  searching  furiously  —  William  by  the 
windows,    peering   into    the   spaces   between   the 
wall  and  the  carpets,  Martin  at  the  sideboard, 
Smithers  gathering  the  rugs  together,  all  on  their 
hands  and  knees,   while  Harvey,   bent  double, 
is    looking    under   the    table.     Mrs.    Western 
comes   in   stonily,  followed  by   the  Judge   and 
Mrs.   Banket.     Mrs.    Western    is   a    hand- 
some woman   of  forty-five,  with  a  rather  stern, 
cold  face;    the   Judge,    a   somewhat   corpulent, 
genial    man    of  fifty-five;     and    his    wife,    an 
amiable    nullity,    seven  or   eight  years  younger. 
They  are  all  in  evening-dress,  the  ladies  in  opera- 
cloaks. 
Mrs.  Western.     [Pausing  on  the  threshold.]     Well ! 
Harvey.     [Rising  and  dusting  himself.]     No  trace  of  it. 
Mrs.  Western.     [Looking  around.]     A  nice  mess  you've 
made  of  the  room  ! 

Martin.     You  told  us  to  look,  Madam. 
Judge.     [Going  to  the  fire  and  standing  with  his  back  to  it.] 
I'm  afraid  we'll  be  shockingly  late,  Alice. 

Mrs.  Western.     [Firmly.]     I     don't     go     without     my 
bracelet. 

[She  goes  to  the  table,  and  proceeds  to  shift  the  cups  and 
glasses. 


296  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND   IMAGINATION 

Mrs.  Banket.  [Moving  to  the  other  side  of  the  table,  and 
doing  the  same.]     Quite  right,  dear  —  I  wouldn't. 

[They  all  search,  except  the  Judge,  who  shrugs  his 
shoulders  placidly,  then  takes  a  cigarette  from  his 
case,  and  lights  it.  The  three  servants  still  are 
grovelling  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Western.  I  know  I  had  it  while  I  was  drinking 
my  coffee 

Judge.  My  experience  is,  one  should  never  look  for  things. 
They  find  themselves. 

Mrs.  Western.     [Shortly.]     Nonsense. 

Judge.  A  fact.  Or  at  least  one  should  pretend  to  be 
looking  for  something  else.  My  glasses  now.  When  I 
lose  them  I  declare  loudly  I  can't  find  my  cigar-case.  That 
disheartens  the  glasses  —  they  return  at  once. 

Mrs.  Banket.  [Reproachfully.]  Don't  be  so  irritating, 
Tom ! 

Judge.  That's  all  very  well,  but  how  about  me  ?  I  was 
asked  here  to  dine.  I've  dined  —  I'm  not  complaining 
about  the  dinner.  But  now  the  curtain's  up  —  and  here 
am  I  watching  half-a-dozen  people  looking  very  hard  for  a 
thing  that  isn't  there. 

Mrs.  Banket.  Tom,  Tom,  it's  those  laughs  you  get  in 
Court  that  make  you  so  fond  of  talking.  Don't  you  see  how 
you're  vexing  your  sister  ? 

Mrs.  Western.  Oh,  I'm  used  to  Tom.  Harvey,  I 
think  you  might  be  looking. 

Harvey.  My  dear,  I've  been  turning  round  and  round 
in  this  corner  like  a  bird  in  a  cage. 

Martin.  [Who  all  this  time,  like  the  other  servants,  has 
been  crawling  around  the  different  articles  of  furniture  in  the 
room,  suddenly  rises  to  his  feet  and  addresses  his  mistress  firmly 
but  respectfully.]     It's  not  here,  madam. 

[The  other  servants  also  rise ;  and  stand,  each  in  their 
corner. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  297 

Judge.  That,  I  imagine,  is  perfectly  clear ;  and  I  con- 
gratulate the  witness  on  the  manner  in  which  he  has  given  his 
evidence.  [He  throws  his  cigarette  into  the  fire  and  steps  for- 
ward.]    Now,  my  dear  Alice 

Mrs.  Western.  [Sitting  doggedly  in  the  chair  in  front  of 
the  table  and  proceeding  to  pull  off  her  gloves.]  I  don't  go  with- 
out my  bracelet. 

Judge.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  speak  slightingly  of  a 
gift  of  Harvey's  —  but  really  it  isn't  of  such  priceless  value. 

Mrs.  Western.     That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 

Mrs.  Banket.     Of  course  not.     Oh,  these  men  ! 

Harvey.  [Stepping  forward.]  Tom's  right.  Let's  go. 
Look  here,  I'll  get  you  another. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Drily.]  Thanks  —  I  want  that  one. 
—  Smithers,  and  you,  William,  just  look  again  in  the  hall. 

Smithers.     Yes,  m'm. 

Mrs.  Western.  And  then  help  the  chauffeur  —  turn 
out  everything  in  the  car. 

Smithers.     Yes,  m'm. 

Mrs.  Western.  Bring  the  rugs  into  the  house,  and 
shake  them. 

Smithers.     Yes,  m'm.  [She  and  William  go. 

Judge.  [Going  back  to  the  fire.]  Sumptuary  laws  — 
that's  what  we  want.  If  women  didn't  wear  bracelets, 
they  couldn't  lose  them. 

Mrs.  Western.     Martin,  William  is  honest,  isn't  he  ? 

Harvey.     [Protesting.]     Oh,  hang  it,  Alice  ! 

Martin.  Quite,  madam  —  excellent  character  —  a  little 
flighty,  but  a  most  respectable  young  man. 

Mrs.  Western.     I've  seen  him  reading  a  sporting  paper. 

Judge.  A  weakness,  my  dear  Alice,  common  to  the 
best  of  us.  I  do  it  myself  sometimes,  but  I'm  willing  to  be 
searched. 

Mrs.  Banket.     O  Tom,  do  be  quiet ! 


298  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Mrs.  Western.  [To  the  Judge.]  You're  very  un- 
sympathetic. [Turning  to  Martin  again.]  None  of  the 
other  servants  came  in  after  we  left  ? 

Martin.     No,  madam. 

Mrs.  Western.     You're  sure  ? 

Martin.  Quite  sure,  madam.  They  were  all  downstairs, 
having  their  supper. 

Mrs.  Western.     Most  mysterious  !     Incomprehensible  ! 

Judge.  [Looking  at  his  watch.]  Past  nine!  We  shall 
plunge  into  the  play  —  like  body-snatchers,  looking  for  the 
corpse  of  the  plot  —  and  we  shall  never  know  what  it  was 
that  the  heroine  did. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Ignoring  him,  to  Martin.]  Smithers 
I'll  answer  for. 

Martin.  Oh  yes,  madam.  If  I  might  make  a  sugges- 
tion   

Mrs.  Western.     Well  ? 

Martin.  It  couldn't  have  fallen  anywhere  into  your 
dress,  madam  ? 

Mrs.  Western.  Nonsense,  how  could  it?  [She  gets  up 
and  shakes  herself.]     Absurd.  [She  sits  again. 

Martin.     Into  your  cloak  ? 

Mrs.  Western.  Silk!  No.  That'll  do,  Martin.  You 
might  help  the  others  outside.  [Martin  goes. 

Judge.     [With  a  step  forward.]     Now,  admirable  sister 

Mrs.  Western.  Didn't  it  strike  you  that  Martin's 
manner  was  rather  strange  ? 

Harvey.  [Fretfully.]  Really  you  must  not  suspect  the 
servants ! 

Mrs.  Western.  [Turning  to  him.]  Must  not  —  must! 
That's  scarcely  the  way  to  speak  to  me,  Harvey. 

Harvey.     [Deprecatingly.]     My  dear 

Mrs.  Western.  And  I  wasn't  suspecting  —  I  was 
merely  asking  a  question  of  my  brother. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  299 

Judge.     Come,  Alice,  let's  go. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Shaking  her  head.]  You  three  go. 
You'll  excuse  me. 

Judge.     [Cheerfully.]     If  you  insist 

Mrs.  Banket.  [Coming  forward.]  No,  no.  Do  come, 
Alice ! 

Mrs.  Western.  I  can't  —  I'm  so  puzzled.  [With  a 
sudden  idea.]     Oh ! 

Harvey.  [Who  is  behind  her  to  the  left,  between  her  and 
the  Judge.]     What  ?     Have  you  found  it  ? 

Mrs.  Western.  No,  no  —  of  course  not.  But  ring, 
please,  will  you  ? 

Harvey.     Why  ? 

Mrs.  Western.  I  want  you  to  ring.  [He  presses  the 
bell  by  the  fireplace.]  I  just  remember  Miss  Farren  came  in 
while  we  were  having  coffee. 

Harvey.     [Indignantly.]     Alice ! 

Mrs.  Western.  I  asked  her  to  write  a  card  to  Har- 
rod's  —  she'll  have  written  it  in  here. 

Harvey.     [Angrily.]     I  say  —  really  ! 

Mrs.  Western.  [Coldly.]  No  need  to  snub  me  again 
—  before  our  guests  !  I  need  scarcely  say  I  am  not  sus- 
pecting Miss  Farren  —  but  in  justice  to  her 

Mrs.  Banket.  But,  Alice,  she'll  have  gone  out  —  you 
told  her  she  might 

Mrs.  Western.  Only  to  her  sister's  close  by  —  and 
she  may  not  have  gone  yet.  Why  don't  they  answer  the 
bell  ?     Ring  again,  Harvey. 

Judge.     The  poor  things  are  still  searching. 

Harvey.     [Firmly.]     Alice,  I  protest,  I  do  indeed 

Mrs.  Western.  Don't  be  so  foolishly  sentimental  — 
it's  ridiculous  at  your  age.  The  young  woman  is  in  my 
employ,  as  governess  to  my  children.  [Martin  comes  in.] 
Has  Miss  Farren  gone  out  yet  ? 


300  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Martin.  No,  madam.  I  believe  she's  in  her  room, 
dressing. 

Mrs.  Western.     Ask  her  to  come. 

Martin.     Yes,  madam.  [He  goes. 

Judge.     [Shaking    his    head.]     No    sense    of    proportion, 
that's  the  truth  —  they've  no  sense  of  proportion. 
Mrs.  Banket.     Tom ! 

Judge.  A  fact,  my  dear  —  but  you  can't  help  it.  You've 
every  quality  in  the  world  but  just  that  —  you  will  always 
look  through  the  wrong  end  of  the  telescope. 

Mrs.  Banket.  Really,  Tom,  this  isn't  the  moment  for 
your  nonsense  —  and  if  you  only  knew  how  stupid  you  are 
when  you  try  to  be  funny ! 

Harvey.     [Going  nervously  to  Mrs.   Western.]     I   say, 

I  really  do  think 

Mrs.  Western.  [Roughly.]  I  don't  care  what  you  think. 
Leave  me  alone ! 

[There  is  silence.     The  Judge,  sitting  by  the  fire, 
whistles  loudly  "  Waltz  me  around  again,  Willie!" 
Harvey  has  gone  moodily  across  the  room  and 
stands    by    the    sideboard.       Mrs.    Banket    is 
sitting  behind  the  table.      After   a   moment   the 
door  opens,  and  Miss    Farren  comes  in,  with 
hat    and    cloak   on,  and  goes  straight  to  Mrs. 
Western.     She  is  an  extremely  pretty  girl  of 
twenty. 
Miss  Farren.     You  want  me,  Mrs.  Western  ? 
Mrs.  Western.     Oh,  Miss  Farren,  I've  lost  my  bracelet. 
Miss  Farren.     Really!     I'm  so  sorry !     Where? 
Mrs.  Western.     I  don't  know.      You  didn't  see  it,  of 
course,  after  we'd  gone  ? 

Miss   Farren.     [Shaking  her  head.]     No  —  and  no  one 
came  in.     I  was  writing  the  letter  to  Harrod's. 
Mrs.  Western.     No  one  at  all  ? 


ILLUSTRATIONS  301 

Miss  Farren.     No  —  I'm  sure  of  that.     And  I'd  hardly 
got  to  my  room  when  I  heard  the  car  come  back. 
Mrs.  Western.     Well,  thank  you,  Miss  Farren. 
Miss    Farren.     It's    very    annoying.     You're    sure    it's 
not  in  the  car  ? 

Judge.  My  dear  Miss  Farren,  it's  not  in  the  car,  it's 
not  anywhere,  and  I'm  beginning  to  believe  it  never  was 
at  all.  Come,  Alice,  let's  go.  We  shan't  see  much  of  the 
play,  but  we  can  at  least  help  the  British  drama  by  buying 
two  programmes. 

Miss  Farren.  [With  a  light  laugh  —  then  turning  to  Mrs. 
Western  again.]  Do  you  want  me  any  more,  Mrs.  Western  ? 
Mrs.  Western.  No,  thanks.  [Miss  Farren  turns  to 
g0  —  Mrs.  Western,  who  has  suddenly  cast  an  eager  glance 
at  her,  as  though  attracted  by  something,  calls  her  back.]  Oh 
Miss  Farren  ! 

Miss  Farren.     [Turning.]     Yes  ? 

Mrs.  Western.     I  wonder  whether  you'd  be  so  good  as 
to  shift  this  aigrette  of  mine  —  it's  hurting  me. 
Miss  Farren.     Certainly. 

[She  comes  back  to  Mrs.  Western,  and  stands  by 
her  side;   as  she  raises  her  arm  Mrs.  Western 
jumps  up  and  seizes  it  by  the  wrist. 
Mrs.  Western.     My  bracelet! 

[Keeping  a  tight  hold  of  Miss  Farren's  wrist,  she 

holds  it  at  arm's  length.     There  is  a  general  cry  of 

amazement  —  the  Judge   and  his  wife  start  to 

their  feet  —  Harvey  rushes  eagerly  towards  her. 

Judge.     Alice ! 

Mrs.  Banket.     Oh ! 

Harvey.     No,  no 

[These  three  exclamations  are  simultaneous. 
Mrs.  Western.     There  it  is  !     She  took  it ! 
Judge.     Are  you  sure  ? 


302              FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 
Harvey.     [Breathless  and  urgent.]     Alice 


Miss  Farren.  [Recovering  from  her  shock  and  bewilder' 
ment.]     Mrs.  Western,  it  isn't 

Mrs.  Western.  [Sternly,  still  holding  the  girl  by  the 
wrist.]     You  dare  to  pretend 

Harvey.  [Who  is  now  at  the  back  of  his  wife's  chair,  look- 
ing closely  at  the  bracelet.]  Let  me  look,  let  me  look.  .  .  . 
I  say,  Alice,  you're  wrong.  It's  not  yours  at  all.  The 
setting's  different. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Angrily.]  What  do  you  mean,  differ- 
ent ?  You  think  I  don't  know  my  own  bracelet  ?  Are  you 
mad  ?     I  say  it's  mine  —  and  it  is  ! 

Judge.     [Stepping  forward.]     Alice,  be  careful 

Mrs.  Western.  Careful !  You're  as  bad  as  he !  Of 
course  the  thing's  mine  —  I've  been  wearing  it  for  weeks  — 
and  you  think  I  can  make  a  mistake  ?  She  found  it,  and 
took  it. 

Miss  Farren.  [Very  distressed.]  No,  no,  Mrs.  Western, 
really  !     It  isn't  yours  !     I  assure  you  ! 

Harvey.     Alice,  I  declare  to  you 

Mrs.  Western.  [Roughly.]  Be  quiet  and  go  away. 
This  is  no  business  of  yours. 

Harvey.  [Eagerly.]  But  it  is !  It  was  I  who  bought 
the  wretched  thing  —  well,  I  am  prepared  to  swear  that 
this  isn't  the  one ! 

Mrs.  Western.  [A  little  shaken,  looking  at  it  again.] 
You're  prepared  to.  .  .  .  [She  lifts  her  head.]  How  can  you 
talk  such  utter  nonsense  ?  There  is  not  the  least  doubt  — 
not  the  least ! 

Judge.  [Stopping  Harvey,  who  is  about  to  protest  violently.] 
Alice,  mind  what  you're  saying.  You'll  get  yourself  into 
trouble.     If  Harvey  says 

Mrs.  Banket.  [Contemptuously.]  He's  saying  it  to 
shield  her,  that's  all. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  3°3 

Harvey.  [Indignantly.]  I'm  not.  It's  not  true.  But 
you  mustn't  bring  such  an  accusation.  It's  monstrous. 
And  I  won't  allow 

Mrs.  Western.  [Drawing  herself  up.]  You  —  won't  — 
allow !  The  girl  takes  my  bracelet  —  and  you  won't 
allow ! 

Miss  Farren.  [Trying  to  free  herself.]  Mrs.  Western, 
I  haven't,  I  haven't! 

Judge.     [Impressively.]     Alice,  will  you  listen  to  me  ? 

Mrs.  Western.  No,  I  won't!  This  doesn't  concern 
you,  or  any  one,  but  me  and  this  girl !  Look  at  her  —  she 
knows ! 

Miss  Farren.     Mrs.  Western,  you're  hurting  my  arm.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Western.     Come  now  —  confess  !     I  won't  be  hard 

on  you  if  you  confess 

[She  wrenches  off  the  bracelet,  and  releases  the  girl, 
who  staggers  back,  nursing  her  wrist. 

Harvey.  [Almost  beside  himself,  stamping  his  foot] 
Alice,  Alice,  will  you  hear 

Miss  Farren.  Oh,  you  have  hurt  me !  And  you've  no 
right  —  to  say  such  things.  .  .  . 

Harvey.     No,  you  haven't,  you  haven't ! 

Mrs.  Western.  Besides,  a  bracelet  like  that !  [She 
holds  it  up.  To  Miss  Farren.]  You  won't  confess  ?  Very 
well,  then.     I'll  send  for  a  policeman. 

Harvey.     [Doggedly.]     The  bracelet  is  hers. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Jeeringly.]  Turquoise  and  emeralds ! 
Hers!  A  coincidence,  perhaps.  Very  likely.  I'll  give 
her  in  charge  at  once. 

Harvey.     The  bracelet  is  hers,  I  tell  you. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Turning  furiously  on  him.]  You  dare 
to  say  that  ? 

Harvey.  [Steadily.]  Yes.  Because  I  myself  —  gave  it 
to  her. 


304  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

[There  is  a  moments  almost  stupefied  silence ;  Har- 
vey and  Alice  are  face  to  face.  Miss  Farren 
to  the  left  of  her,  Mrs.  Banket  is  still  at  the  back, 
the  Judge  by  the  fire.  Mrs.  Western  breaks 
the  silence. 

Mrs.  Western.     [Sternly.]     You  —  gave  —  it  —  her  ? 

Harvey.     [Steadily.]     Yes. 

Mrs.  Western.     You  ask  me  to  believe  that  you  gave 
a  bracelet  to  —  this  person  —  my  children's  governess  ? 

Harvey.     I  did. 

Mrs.  Western.     An  exact  copy  of  the  one  you  gave  me  ? 

Harvey.     I've  told  you  —  it's  not  an  exact  copy  —  there's 
a  difference  in  the  setting. 

Mrs.  Banket.     Nonsense,  nonsense,  it   can't  be  —  he's 
just  saying  this 

Judge.     Fanny,  don't  interfere. 

Harvey.     I'm  saying  what's  true. 

Mrs.  Western.     I  refuse  to  believe  it.     It's  incredible. 
You've  not  sunk  so  low  as  that.     It's  a  lie. 

Harvey.     [Indignantly.]     Alice ! 

Mrs.  Western.     Yes,  a  lie.     A  trumped-up  story.     The 
girl  has  taken  it 

Miss  Farren.     I  have  not! 

Mrs.  Western.     You  can  tell  that  to  the  magistrate  — 
[She  turns  to  Harvey]  and  you  too,  if  you  like. 

[She  moves  to  the  bell. 

Judge.     [Putting  out  a  hand  to  stop  her.]     Alice 

Mrs.  Western.     Leave  me  alone,  Tom.     I  know  what 
I'm  doing.     I'll  send  for  a  policeman. 

Harvey.     [Imploringly.]     Alice,  Alice 

Mrs.   Western.     [Pausing,   with   her   hand  on  the  bell.] 
I'll  let  the  girl  off,  if  you'll  tell  me  the  truth. 

Harvey.     I  have  told  you  the  truth. 

Mrs.  Western.     You  persist  in  this  silly  falsehood  ? 


ILLUSTRATIONS  305 

Harvey.     It  isn't  —  I  tell  you  it  isn't ! 
Mrs.  Western.     Very  well,  then. 

[She  -presses  the  bell.  At  that  moment  the  door  bursts 
open,  and  Martin  comes  in  triumphantly,  with 
the  bracelet  on  a  salver.  Smithers  and  William 
are  behind  him,  but  do  not  pass  beyond  the 
threshold. 

Martin.     [Eagerly.]     Ma'am,  ma'am,  we've  found  the 

[Mrs.  Western  has  turned  towards  him,  still  holding 
the  other  bracelet  in  her  hand.     Martin  catches 
sight   of  it,   and  stops   dead  short,   staring   be- 
wilderedly  at  it. 
Mrs.  Western.     [Calmly.]     Where  did  you  find  it  ? 

[She  takes  the  bracelet  off  the  salver  and  lays  it  on  the 
table. 
Martin.     [With  a  great  effort.]     It  had  fallen  into  the 
pocket  of  the  car  —  there  was  a  hole  in  the  pocket  —  it 
had  worked  its  way  right  down  into  the  body. 
Mrs.  Western.     Very  well.     Thank  you. 
[Martin  goes;    the  other  servants  have  already  slunk  off. 
There  is  a  moment's  silence.     Mrs.  Western 
suddenly  flings  the  bracelet  she  has  in  her  hand  in 
Miss  Farren's  direction. 
Mrs.  Western.     [Contemptuously.]     Here.     I  return  you 
your  property.     And  now  pack  up  your  things  and  leave  the 
house. 

Harvey.    [Who  has  stepped  forward  and  picked  up  the  brace- 
let, standing  between  Mrs.  Western  and  Miss  Farren.]    No. 
Mrs.  Western.     [Staring  at  him.]     What  ? 
Harvey.     [Violently.]     I  say,  No  ! 

Mrs.  Western.     I  have  told  the  girl  to  leave  my  house. 

Harvey.     My  house  —  mine!     And  she  shall  stay  in  it! 

Or,  at  least,  when  she  goes,  it  shall  be  without  the  slightest 

stain  or  suspicion 

x 


306  facts,  thought,  and  imagination 

Mrs.  Western.  [Scornfully.]  I  am  not  accusing  her  of 
theft. 

Harvey.  But  you  are  insinuating  —  I  declare  solemnly 
before  you  all 

Judge.  [Interposing.]  Harvey,  one  moment.  ...  I  am 
sure  that  Miss  Farren  would  rather  go  to  her  room.  .  .  . 

Miss  Farren.     Yes. 

Harvey.  By  all  means.  Here,  take  your  bracelet. 
[He  gives  it  to  her.]  But  you  don't  leave  this  house  —  you 
understand  that  ?     /  am  master  here. 

[Miss  Farren  goes  quietly. 

Judge.  Now  just  listen  to  me,  both  of  you.  Be  calm  — 
all  this  excitement  won't  help.  Harvey,  you  too.  You 
and  Alice  will  have  your  explanation 

Mrs.  Western.     If  the  girl  doesn't  go  to-night 

Harvey.  I  tell  you  again  she  shall  not !  And  there's 
no  need.  I  was  a  fool  to  give  her  that  bracelet  —  she  didn't 
want  to  take  it 

Mrs.  Banket.     Why  did  you  ? 

Harvey.     I  had  given  Alice  one  on  her  birthday. 

Mrs.  Western.     Well  ? 

Harvey.     And  so  I  got  her  one. 

Mrs.  Western.     Why  ? 

Harvey.     Because [He  stops,  very  embarrassed.] 

Mrs.  Western.     Well  ? 

Harvey.  Because  —  oh,  because  —  well,  she  admired 
it  —  and  she  liked  pretty  things  too.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Western.    I  don't  think  you  need  say  anything  more. 

Mrs.  Banket.     No.     He  needn't.     It's  clear  enough  ! 

Harvey.  [Eagerly.]  Look  here,  on  my  honour  —  I  am 
fond  of  her,  of  course,  in  a  way  —  but  I'm  old  enough  to 
be  her  father  —  and  I  swear  to  you  all  —  I've  seen  her  about, 
of  course,  a  good  deal  —  and  I  gave  her  that  thing  —  but 
beyond  that,  nothing,  nothing ! 


ILLUSTRATIONS  3  07 

Mrs.  Western.  [Sitting,  and  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulder.] 
A  ridiculous  fairy  tale ! 

Judge.  My  dear  Alice,  take  my  advice,  and  believe  your 
husband. 

Mrs.  Western.     You  too ! 

Mrs.  Banket.     All  alike,  when  there's  a  pretty  face ! 

Judge.  Let  her  find  another  situation,  by  all  means.  .  .  . 
But  to  turn  a  girl  out,  at  a  moment's  notice !  You  couldn't. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Turning  to  the  Judge.]  You  are  really 
suggesting  that  I  should  sleep  under  the  same  roof  with 

Judge.  [Almost  sternly.)  You  are  condemning,  without 
the  slightest  evidence.  And  condemning,  remember,  an 
utterly  defenceless  creature.  This  girl  has  a  claim  on  you  : 
were  your  suspicions  justified,  she  would  still  have  a  claim. 

Mrs.  Western.     Indeed ! 

Mrs.  Banket.  The  nonsense  he  talks !  It's  really  too 
silly! 

Judge.  You  are  extraordinary,  you  women  !  You  exact 
such  rigid  morality  from  the  governess  and  the  housemaid  ! 
You're  full  of  excuses  when  it's  one  of  yourselves ! 

Mrs.  Banket.     [Indignantly.]     Tom ! 

Judge.     Well,  that's  true  —  we  all  know  it !     And  here 

—  I  believe  every  word  Harvey  has  said. 

Mrs.  Western.     [Scarcely  believing  her  ears.]     You  do ! 

Judge.  Because  he  is  a  man  of  honour,  and  men  of 
honour  have  their  code.  Their  children's  governess  ...  is 
safe.  You  will  do  well  to  believe  it,  too.  Now,  Fanny,  we'll 
go.  Be  sensible,  Alice  —  I  tell  you  again,  Harvey's  right; 
the  girl  must  not  be  —  summarily  dismissed  :  it  would  be 
an  act  of  cruel  injustice.     Good-bye.     [He  offers  to  kiss  her 

—  she  turns  away.]     As  you  like.     Good-bye,  Harvey,  old 
man. 

Harvey.  Good-bye,  Tom.  [They  shake  hands.]  And 
thank  you. 


308  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Mrs.  Banket.  [Kissing  Mrs.  Western.]  My  poor, 
dear  Alice ! 

Mrs.  Western.  Good-bye,  Fanny.  I'm  sorry  that 
our  party  to-night 

Mrs.  Banket.  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter!  Poor  thing! 
I  promise  you  that  Tom  shall  have  a  good  talking  to ! 

[She  is  too  angry  with  Harvey  to  say  good-bye  to  him : 
she  and  the  Judge  go.  The  moment  the  door 
closes,  Harvey  begins,  feverishly  and  pas- 
sionately. 

Harvey.  Now  just  listen.  I'm  going  to  speak  to  you  — 
I'm  going  to  say  things  —  things  that  have  been  in  my 
heart,  in  my  life,  for  years.  I'm  not  going  to  spare  you. 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and  the  truth,  and  the 
truth ! 

Mrs.  Western.  [Calmly,  looking  ironically  at  him.]  If 
it's  the  same  kind  of  truth  you've  been  giving  us  to-night 

Harvey.  We've  been  married  ten  years.  Oh,  I  know, 
we  were  neither  of  us  very  young.  But  anyhow  the  last  five 
have  been  nothing  but  misery  for  me.  Misery  —  do  you 
hear  that  ?  You  sitting  there,  calm  and  collected  —  not 
caring  one  damn  for  me 

Mrs.  Western.     [Quietly.]     That's  not  true. 

Harvey.  It  is,  and  you  know  it.  The  mother  of  my 
children  !  Satisfied  with  that.  Never  a  word  of  kindness, 
or  sympathy.     And  as  for  —  affection  ! 

Mrs.  Western.  We're  not  sweethearts  —  we're  middle- 
aged  people. 

Harvey.  Well,  I  need  something  more.  And,  look  here, 
I'll  tell  you.  This  girl  has  made  life  worth  living.  That's 
all.  I'd  come  home  at  night  dog-tired,  all  day  in  the  City  — 
sick  of  it,  Stock  Exchange,  office,  and  the  mud  and  the  grime 
and  the  worry  —  there  were  you,  with  a  nod,  ah,  Harvey, 
good  evening  —  and  you'd  scarcely  look  up  from  your  Com- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  309 

mittee  Report  or  your  Blue-book,  or  damned  pamphlet  or 
other 

Mrs.  Western.  [Contemptuously.]  You  are  one  of  the 
men  who  want  their  wife  to  be  a  mere  sort  of  doll. 

Harvey.  [More  and  more  vehemently .]  I  want  my  wife 
to  care  for  me  !  I  want  her  to  smile  when  I  come  in,  and  be 
glad  —  I  want  her  to  love  me !  You  don't !  By  the  Lord, 
I've  sneaked  upstairs,  gone  in  and  had  a  peep  at  the  chil- 
dren —  well,  they'd  be  asleep.  I  tell  you  I've  been  hungry, 
hungry,  for  a  word,  for  a  look !  And  there,  in  the  school- 
room, was  this  girl.  I've  played  it  low  down,  I  know  — 
she's  fond  of  me.  But  I  couldn't  help  it  —  I  was  lonely 
—  that's  what  it  was.  I've  gone  up  there  night  after  night. 
You  didn't  know  where  I  was  —  and  you  didn't  care.  In 
my  study,  you  thought  —  the  cold,  chilly  box  that  you  call 
my  study  —  glad  to  have  me  out  of  the  way.  Well,  there 
I  was,  with  this  girl.  It  was  something  to  look  forward  to, 
in  the  cab,  coming  home.  It  was  something  to  catch  hold 
of,  when  things  went  wrong,  in  that  dreary  grind  of  money- 
making.  Her  eyes  lit  up  when  they  saw  me.  She'd  ask  me 
about  things  —  if  I  coughed,  she'd  fuss  me  —  she  had  pretty 
ways,  and  was  pleased,  oh,  pleased  beyond  words,  if  I 
brought  her  home  something 

Mrs.  Western.     So  this  isn't  the  first  time ! 

Harvey.  [With  a  snarl.]  No,  of  course  not !  She  ad- 
mired that  bracelet  of  yours  —  by  Jove,  I  said  to  myself, 
I'll  get  her  one  like  it !  Whatever  I  brought  home  to  you 
you'd  scarcely  say  thank  you  —  and  usually  it  went  into 
the  drawer  —  I'd  such  shocking  bad  taste  !  She'd  beam  ! 
Well,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  you  took  a  fancy  to  this  one. 
I  told  her  she  mustn't  wear  hers 

Mrs.  Western.  [Calmly  and  cuttingly.]  Conspiring  be- 
hind my  back. 

Harvey.     [Raging.]     Oh,  if  you  knew  what  has  gone  on 


310  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

behind  your  back !  Not  when  I  was  with  her  —  when  I 
was  alone !  The  things  I've  said  about  you  —  to  myself ! 
When  I  thought  of  this  miserable  life  that  had  to  be  dragged 
on  here,  thought  of  your  superior  smile,  your  damnable 
cruelty 

Mrs.  Western.     [Genuinely  surprised.]     Cruelty!     Why? 

Harvey.  What  else  ?  I'd  go  up  to  you  timidly  —  bah, 
why  talk  of  it  ?  To  you  I've  been  the  machine  that  made 
money  —  money  to  pay  for  the  house,  and  the  car,  and  the 
dressmakers'  bills  —  a  machine  that  had  to  be  fed — and 
when  you'd  done  that,  you'd  done  all.  Well,  there  was 
this  girl 

Mrs.  Western.     You  had  your  children. 

Harvey.  A  boy  of  seven  and  a  girl  of  five  —  in  bed  when 
I  came  home  —  and  your  children  much  more  than  mine  — 
I'm  a  stranger  to  them  !  And  anyhow,  I  wanted  something 
more  —  something  human,  alive  —  that  only  a  woman  can 
give.  And  she  gave  it.  Nothing  between  us,  I  swear  — 
but  just  that.  As  Tom  says,  I've  not  been  such  a  cur  — 
and  you  ought  to  know  me  well  enough,  after  all  these 
years !  .  .  .  But  there  is  the  truth  —  she's  fond  of  me : 
she  is,  it's  a  fact.  And  I  needed  that  fondness  —  it  has  kept 
me  going.  And  now  —  do  you  think  I'll  let  her  be  thrust 
out  into  the  street  ? 

[As  he  says  these  last  words  he  drops  into  a  chair, 
facing  her,  and  looks  fiercely  and  doggedly  at  her. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Calmly.]  Stop  now,  and  listen  to 
me.  I've  let  you  rattle  on.  Will  you  hear  me  for  one 
moment  ? 

Harvey.     Go  on. 

Mrs.  Western.  All  those  things  you've  said  about  me  — 
[With  a  shrug.]  Well,  what's  the  use  ?  I  suppose  we're 
like  most  married  people  when  they  come  to  our  age.  I've 
interests  of  my  own,  that  don't  appeal  to  you 


ILLUSTRATIONS  3 1 1 

Harvey.     Blue-books  and  Committees  ! 

Mrs.  Western.  I  do  useful  work  —  oh  yes,  you  may 
sneer  —  you  always  have  sneered  !  If  a  woman  tries  to  do 
something  sensible  with  her  life,  instead  of  cuddling  and 
kissing  you  all  day,  she's  cold  and  cruel.  We've  drifted 
apart  —  well,  your  fault  as  much  as  mine.  More,  perhaps 
—  but  it's  no  good  going  into  that  —  no  good  making  re- 
proaches. That's  how  things  are  —  we  must  make  the  best 
of  them.  Wait,  let  me  finish.  About  this  girl.  Granted 
that  what  you  say  is  true  —  and  I'm  inclined  to  believe 
it 

Harvey.  [Genuinely  grateful.]  At  least  thank  you  for 
that! 

Mrs.  Western.  Or  at  any  rate  it's  better  policy  to  be- 
lieve it,  for  every  one's  sake 

Harvey.  [Bitterly.]  That's  right  —  that's  more  like 
you  ! 

Mrs.  Western.  We  gain  nothing  by  abusing  each  other. 
And  I  didn't  interrupt  you.  Let's  look  facts  in  the  face. 
Here  we  are,  we  two  —  tied. 

Harvey.     [With  a  groan.]     Yes. 

Mrs.  Western.  With  our  two  children.  If  it  weren't 
for  them.  .  .  .  Well,  we've  got  to  remain  together.  Now 
there's  this  girl.  It's  quite  evident,  after  what  you've  said, 
that  she  can't  stop  here 

Harvey.     [Jumping  to  his  feet.]     She  shall ! 

Mrs.  Western.  [Fretfully.]  Oh,  do  be  a  man,  and  drop 
this  mawkish  sentiment !  You  say  she's  fond  of  you  — 
you've  made  her  fond  of  you.  Was  this  a  very  pretty 
thing  —  for  a  man  of  your  age  to  do  ? 

Harvey.  [Sullenly,  as  he  drops  back  into  his  chair.] 
Never  mind  my  age. 

Mrs.  Western.     Very  well  then  —  for  a  married  man  ? 

Harvey.     An  unhappy  man. 


312  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

Mrs.  Western.  Even  granting  that  —  though  if  you're 
unhappy  it's  your  own  fault  —  I've  always  been  urging 
you  to  go  on  the  County  Council  —  What's  to  become  of  the 
girl,  if  she  stops  here  ? 

Harvey.  [Desperately.]  I  don't  know  —  but  I  can't  let 
her  go  —  I  tell  you  I  can't ! 

Mrs.  Western.  [Scarcely  able  to  conceal  her  disgust.]  Oh, 
if  you  knew  how  painful  it  is  to  hear  you  whining  like  this  ! 
It's  pitiable,  really !  In  the  girl's  own  interest  —  how  can 
she  stop  ? 

Harvey.  She  must.  I  can't  let  her  be  turned  out. 
It  would  break  her  heart. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Turning  right  round,  and  staring  at  him.] 
What  ? 

Harvey.  [Doggedly.]  Yes,  it  would.  She's  very  fond  of 
me,  that's  the  truth.  I  know  that  I've  been  to  blame  — 
but  it's  too  late  for  that  now.  She's  romantic,  of  course  — 
what  you'd  call  sentimental.  I  dare  say  I've  played  on  her 
feelings  —  she  saw  I  was  lonely.  She  has  a  side  that  you've 
never  suspected  —  a  tender,  sensitive  side  —  she  has  ideals. 
.  .  .  Well,  do  you  realise  what  it  would  mean,  with  a  girl 
like  that  ?  No  one  knows  her  as  I  do.  I'm  quite  startled, 
sometimes,  to  find  how  fond  she  is  of  me.  Oh,  have  some 
sympathy !  It's  difficult,  I  know  —  it's  terribly  difficult. 
But  she  loves  me  —  that's  the  truth  —  and  a  young  girl's 
love  —  why,  she  might  throw  herself  into  the  river !  Oh 
yes,  you  smile  —  but  she  might !  What  do  you  know  of 
life,  with  your  Blue-books  ?  Anyhow,  I  daren't  risk  it. 
By-and-by  —  there's  no  hurry,  is  there  ?  And  I  put  it  to 
you  —  be  merciful !  You're  not  the  ordinary  woman  — 
you  have  a  brain  —  you're  not  conventional.  Don't  act 
like  the  others.  Don't  drive  this  girl  out  of  the  house.  It 
would  end  in  tragedy.     Believe  it ! 

Mrs.  Western.     You  can't  really  expect  me  to  keep  a 


ILLUSTRATIONS  3J3 

girl  here,  as  governess  to  my  children,  who,  as  you  say,  is 
in  love  with  you. 

Harvey.  [Pleading.]  I  expect  you  —  I'm  asking  you 
—  to  help  her  —  and  me. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Shaking  her  head.}  That's  too  much. 
We  won't  turn  her  out  to-night  —  I'll  give  her  a  reference, 
and  all  that 

Harvey.  [Springing  to  his  feet  again.]  Alice,  I  can't  let 
her  go ! 

Mrs.    Western.     [Conciliatorily.]     Ask    Tom,    ask    any 


one 

Harvey.  [More  and  more  passionately.]  I  tell  you,  I 
can't  let  her  go ! 

Mrs.  Western.  Be  sensible,  Harvey  —  you  must  rea- 
lise yourself  there's  no  alternative 

Harvey.  [With  a  violent  and  uncontrollable  outburst.] 
I  vow  and  declare  to  you  —  if  she  goes,  I  go  too !  And  the 
consequences  will  be  on  your  head  ! 

[Mrs.  Western  has  also  risen  —  they  stand  face 
to  face,  looking  at  each  other  —  and  for  a  mo- 
ment there  is  silence.  The  door  opens,  and 
Miss  Farren  comes  in,  dressed  as  before. 
She  walks  straight  to  Mrs.  Western. 
Miss   Farren.     Mrs.   Western,   my   things   are  packed, 

and  on  the  cab 

Harvey.  [Wildly.]  My  poor  child,  you're  not  to  go  — 
I  told  you  ! 

Miss  Farren.  [With  a  demure  glance  at  him,  stopping 
him  as  he  is  moving  towards  her.]  Of  course  I  must  —  I 
can't  stay  here  —  that's  not  possible.  My  sister  will  take 
me  in  for  to-night. 

Mrs.  Western.     Miss  Farren,  my  husband  has  explained 

to  me  —  I  withdraw  all 

Miss    Farren.     [Carelessly.]      Oh,    that's    all    right  — 


314  FACTS,  THOUGHT,  AND  IMAGINATION 

though  thank  you  all  the  same.  And  it  really  doesn't 
matter  much.  I  was  going  to  give  notice  to-morrow  any- 
way  


Harvey.     [Starting  violently.]     What ! 

Miss  Farren.  Well,  I  put  it  off  as  long  as  I  could,  Mr. 
Western,  because  .  .  .  But  the  fact  is  I'm  going  on  the 
stage  —  musical  comedy 

Harvey.  [Breathless,  staggering  back.]  You  —  are  — 
going 


Miss  Farren.  I've  accepted  an  engagement  —  oh, 
I'm  only  to  be  a  show-girl  at  first  —  but  they  believe  I'll 
do  well.  They've  been  wanting  me  some  time.  And  my 
fiance  has  persuaded  me. 

Harvey.  [Collapsing  utterly,  dropping  into  the  chair  by 
the  fire.]     Your 

Miss  Farren.  [Gravely.]  My  fiance  —  yes.  He's  one 
of  the  comic  men  there. 

Mrs.  Western.  [Who  has  been  watching  them  both  with 
an  unmoved  face.]  I'll  write  a  cheque  for  your  salary,  Miss 
Farren.  [She  goes  to  the  desk  at  back. 

Miss  Farren.  [Coquettishly,  to  Harvey.]  I  ought  to 
have  told  you,  I  know,  Mr.  Western.  But  it  was  so  dull 
here  —  and  you've  been  most  awfully  good  to  me.  I  can 
never  be  sufficiently  grateful. 

Harvey.  [With  difficulty,  his  face  turned  away.]  Don't 
mention  it.     And  I  hope  you'll  be  happy. 

Miss  Farren.  [Lightly.]  Thank  you.  I  mean  to  try ! 
[Mrs.  Western  returns  with  a  cheque  which  she 
hands  to  Miss  Farren. 

Mrs.  Western.     Here,  Miss  Farren. 

Miss  Farren.  [Putting  it  into  her  bag.]  Thank  you  so 
much.     Good-bye. 

Mrs.  Western.  If  you  should  ever  need  a  reference, 
don't  be  afraid  to 


ILLUSTRATIONS  3 1 5 

Miss   Farren.     Oh,   thanks,   no   more  governessing  for 
me.     Good-bye ! 

[She  trips  out,  without  another  glance  at  Harvey, 

who  sits  huddled  by  the  fire.     Mrs.  Western 

moves  slowly  to  the  door.     At  the  threshold  she 

pauses,  turns,  and  looks  at  Harvey. 

Mrs.  Western.     I'll  take  care  that  the  next  governess  — 

shall  be  quite  as  pretty  as  this  one,  Harvey. 

[She  opens  the  door  and  goes.     Harvey  doesn't  stir. 

THE    CURTAIN    FALLS 


APPENDIX 
DIRECTIONS   FOR  MAKING  A  PRECIS 

I.  What  a  precis  is. 

A.  A  precis  is  a  condensed  essay,  giving  in  logical  se- 
quence the  main  thoughts  or  facts  of  the  original  author,1 
freed  from  all  nonessential  matter. 

II.  What  a  precis  is  not. 

A.  The  precis  is  not  a  paragraph  outline  of  the  original 
article.  Each  main  heading  of  the  printed  essay  will  usually 
cover  several  paragraphs ;  a  paragraph  outline  ignores  the 
distinction  between  the  main  headings  and  their  minor  sub- 
divisions, ignores  the  very  distinction  which  gives  the  precis 
value.  Also  whole  paragraphs  may  be  introduced  in  the 
original  article  merely  to  win  over  a  hostile  reader  or  interest 
an  apathetic  one,  and  consequently  should  be  omitted  from 
the  precis. 

B.  Although  the  construction  of  an  outline  is  a  pre- 
paratory step,  the  final  version  of  the  precis  is  not  to  be 
written  in  any  kind  of  outline  form. 

C.  The  precis  should  contain  no  comment,  criticism,  or 
thought  not  found  in  the  original. 

III.  Steps  in  making  a  precis. 

A.  The  central  thought  of  the  whole  essay  should  be 
summarized  in  a  sentence.  It  is  well  to  write  that  sen- 
tence at  the  head  of  the  precis. 

1  Or  authors.  A  precis  may  represent  the  condensed  information  gathered 
from  a  body  of  correspondence,  the  letters  of  various  writers. 

317 


3 18  APPENDIX 

B.  The  main  divisions  of  the  essay,  that  is,  the  main  head- 
ings under  which  the  author  thought  out  the  subject,  should 
be  distinguished  from  each  other;  and  the  basic  thought  of 
each  division  summarized  in  a  sentence. 

C.  These  sentences  should  be  arranged  as  an  outline,  in 
the  most  coherent  order,  which  will  often,  but  not  neces- 
sarily or  always,  be  that  of  the  printed  essay. 

D.  From  the  outline  thus  formed,  a  condensed  essay 
should  be  written,  in  which  each  sentence  of  the  outline  is 
developed  into  a  paragraph.  The  thought  development  un- 
derlying the  paragraph  should  follow  the  thought  develop- 
ment of  the  original  essay.  Examples  and  other  illustrative 
material  should  be  used  only  when  indispensable,  and,  when 
used,  should  be  reproduced  from  the  original  with  the  most 
rigid  accuracy. 

E.  All  matter  brought  in  for  purposes  of  proof  or  illustra- 
tion must  be  placed  under  the  topic  which  its  author  intended 
it  to  prove  or  illustrate.  Its  presence  under  any  other  head- 
ing condemns  the  precis  as  inaccurate  and  unintelligent. 

F.  Space  should  be  apportioned  according  to  the  impor- 
tance apparently  attached  to  the  different  points  by  the 
original  writer.  This  will  usually,  but  not  necessarily  or 
always,  mean  that  space  will  be  apportioned  as  in  the  printed 
article. 

IV.    The  precis  and  the  magazine  article. 

A.  If  the  order  of  topics  and  proportionate  space  allotted 
to  topics  are  not  the  same  in  a  magazine  article  and  a  precis 
based  on  it,  that  fact  does  not  necessarily  mean  that  either 
is  bad.  The  precis  is  written  for  readers  concerned  only  with 
the  logical  development  of  thought  or  the  bare  statement  of 
facts.  Magazine  articles  are  written  to  interest  and  to  amuse, 
as  well  as  to  instruct;  they  may  require  an  informal  order 
or  indirect  presentation  to  hold  the  reader's  attention  or 
lull  his  prejudice. 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


'T^HE     following    pages    contain    advertisements    of 
books  by  the  same  author  or  on  kindred  subjects. 


English  Composition  in  Theory  and  Practice 

By  Professors  H.  S.  CANBY,  F.  E.  PIERCE,  T.  G.  WRIGHT 

Of  Sheffield  Scientific  School,  Yale  University,  and 

President  H.  N.  MacCRACKEN 

Of  Vassar  College 
New  and  Revised  Edition,  i2mo,  455  pages,  $1.40 

A  Manual  of  Good  English 

By  President  H.  N.  MacCRACKEN  and  Miss  H.  E.  SANDISON 

Of  Vassar  College 

i2tno,  J24  pages 

Facts,Thought  and  Imagination  :  A  Book  on  Writing 

By  Professors  H.  S.  CANBY,  F.  E.  PIERCE,  W.  H.  DURHAM 

Of  Sheffield  Scientific  School,  Yale  University 

i2mo,  about  380  pages 

Three  books  which  form  a  good  combination  for  Freshman  English 
Composition  courses.  Canby's  English  Composition  has  for  sev- 
eral years  been  extensively  used  as  a  text  for  normal  Freshman  stu- 
dents, and  a  careful  revision  during  this  period  of  time  has  made 
it  more  than  ordinarily  satisfactory.  MacCracken  and  Sandison's 
Manual  of  Good  English  will  be  found  a  valuable  supplement  to 
this  text,  for  it  is  intended  primarily  as  a  review  of  authorized  prac- 
tice in  English  Composition,  and  as  a  book  of  reference  particularly 
for  such  students  as  are  defective  in  the  essentials  of  good  English. 
Canby's  Facts,  Thought  and  Imagination  is  designed  as  a  text 
for  advanced  Freshman  students.  It  does  not  place  the  emphasis 
on  rhetorical  drill,  but  on  the  thing  to  be  written  and  how  to  write  it. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


English  Composition 


By  CHESTER  NOYES  GREENOUGH 

Professor  of  English  in  Harvard  University,  and 

FRANK  W.  C.  HERSEY 

Instructor  in  English  in  Harvard  University 

Cloth,  i2tno,  279  P&ies,  $i-4° 

i.  The  book  makes  a  point  of  treating  that  part  of  the  process 
of  writing  which  takes  place  before  any  words  are  put  on  paper; 
namely,  the  perception  of  good  descriptive  and  narrative  material, 
and  the  use  of  books  and  periodicals  for  expository  and  argumenta- 
tive material ;  weighing  and  estimating  of  one  authority  against 
another ;  the  use  of  libraries,  catalogues,  and  indexes,  and  the  making 
of  notes  on  books  and  lectures. 

2.  Throughout  it  treats  English  composition,  not  as  a  separate 
subject,  but  as  a  matter  which  runs  through  all  subjects  and  which 
includes  all  the  spoken  and  written  business  of  the  day. 

3.  In  description  and  argument,  which  are  sometimes  thought  to 
succeed  by  mere  vividness,  it  emphasizes  structural  principles. 

4.  Instead  of  merely  treating  the  principles  of  composition  —  unity, 
emphasis,  and  coherence  —  in  the  abstract,  after  briefly  explaining 
them,  it  shows  what  modifications  they  undergo  in  the  different 
kinds  of  composition. 

5.  The  exercises  and  original  problems  are  an  important  feature 
of  the  book. 

CONTENTS 

Introduction. 

Part  I.    Gathering  and  weighing  materials. 

Part  II.  Exposition,  including  Biography  and  Criticism;  Argu- 
ment ;   Description ;   Narrative. 

Part  III.  Structure,  including  sentences,  paragraphs,  and  whole 
compositions  considered  with  respect  to  unity,  emphasis,  and  co- 
herence. 

Part  IV.  Diction,  including  grammar,  spelling,  pronunciation, 
abbreviations,  representation  of  numbers,  choice  of  words,  number 
of  words. 


THE   MACMTLLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


College  Readings  in  English  Prose 

By  FRANKLIN  W.   SCOTT 

Assistant  Professor  of  English,  and 

JACOB   ZEITLIN 

Associate  in  English  in  the  University  of  Illinois 

i2mo,  653  pages,  $1.40 

"Six  hundred  pages  crammed  full  of  illustrative  material  in  all 
forms  of  composition.  Valuable  as  a  reference  book  for  models, 
most  of  which  are  new,  selected  from  modern  writers  or  speakers." 
—  School  Review,  Chicago. 

"The  specimens  selected  for  this  volume  of  prose  by  Professors 
Scott  and  Zeitlin,  of  the  University  of  Illinois,  represent  a  greater 
range  in  subject  matter,  in  typical  forms  and  in  variations  of  style 
than  other  texts  of  this  sort.  The  book  is  all  meat,  more  than  650 
pages  of  it.  The  editors  have  taken  account  of  the  special  interest 
of  the  engineering  and  agricultural  student,  and  have  provided 
material  which  will  appeal  particularly  to  his  taste,  without  being 
so  technical  in  treatment  as  to  baffle  the  lay  intelligence.  Many  of 
the  selections  are  from  contemporary  writings.  The  book  is  divided 
in  a  large  way  into  examples  of  exposition,  argument,  description, 
narrative,  and  letters.  The  appendix  contains  more  than  twenty- 
five  students'  themes  which  are  classified  under  the  same  general 
heads."  — Journal  of  Education,  Boston. 

"Wider  in  range  than  most  similar  volumes."  — English  Journal. 

"The  result  is  a  volume  which  the  general  reader  will  find  as  en- 
tertaining and  as  instructive  as  the  college  student.  The  articles 
are  arranged  under  the  various  heads  of  exposition,  argument,  de- 
scription, narrative,  and  letters."  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

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Modem  Essays 


SELECTED  AND    EDITED   BY 

JOHN  MILTON  BERDAN,  Ph.D. 

Assistant  Professor  of  English  in  Yale  College 

JOHN  RICHIE  SCHULTZ,  M.A. 

AND 

HEWETTE  ELWELL  JOYCE,  B.A. 

Instructors  in  English  in  Yale  College 

i2mo,  448  pages,  $1.25 

A  volume  of  thirty-three  essays  selected  from  contemporary 
authors,  the  great  majority  of  whom  are  still  alive  and  among 
the  most  able  writers  of  the  age.  The  essays  were  chosen 
because,  in  the  opinion  of  the  editors,  each  author  succeeded 
in  saying  forcibly  what  he  wished  to  say ;  the  emphasis  is  on 
the  form,  not  on  the  facts;  on  the  method,  not  the  content. 
A  wide  range,  both  in  treatment  and  in  subject  matter,  is  to 
be  found,  and  the  various  forms  of  exposition  are  thoroughly 
illustrated  without  being  offensively  labelled.  Each  essay  offers 
a  suggestive  treatment  for  its  particular  subject  and  its  partic- 
ular audience.  In  order  to  enable  the  student  to  perceive 
clearly  just  what  is  gained  and  what  is  lost  in  each  case,  brief 
notes  are  prefixed  to  each  essay,  suggesting  the  scope  and  limi- 
tations of  its  particular  type.  A  general  theoretical  introduc- 
tion has  been  included  in  order  to  explain  the  point  of  view  of 
the  entire  book.  Among  the  authors  may  be  mentioned  Whist- 
ler, Lubbock,  Bryce,  Wu  Tingfang,  Lodge,  Taft,  Phelps,  Rhodes, 
Chesterton,  Bennett,  Lang,  Leacock,  Sumner,  Woodrow  Wilson, 
Galsworthy.  The  book  will  be  found  adapted  for  use  in  courses 
on  Exposition  or  Essay-Writing,  following  the  general  Fresh- 
man course,  although  it  may  also  be  used  in  a  Freshman  course 
when  it  is  desired  to  devote  considerable  attention  to  Exposition. 


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Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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